StarCraft: Downfall
by Hawki
Summary: 2502. Nymph-class frigate 'Athena.' Assigned to transport medical team from Ballast to Agria. Ship's fate classified. Zerg involvement suspected. Access to account granted.
1. Prologue: The Queen

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Prologue: The Queen**

They called her the Queen of Blades.

Once, she had another name. Once, she not been a queen, but a servant. Lapdog to a current emperor. Assassin to a confederacy. Once, she had been…different.

Such a time had ended only two years ago. But for the being once called Sarah Kerrigan, it might as well have been a lifetime.

Lifetime meant different things to different species. One-hundred years for the average terran. One-thousand for a protoss, though she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter though. Both species lived, both species died, whereas for the zerg, it meant nothing. It was an impossibility for herself. An impossibility that added to the certainty of victory.

_When?_

The Queen of Blades flexed a fist, before running it across the waxy surface of the hive's interior. It was cool in here, a stark contrast to the fires of Char that raged outside. With her hand, she could choke the life out of her foes. With a flick, she could send her children to do the deed for her.

_Like Dylar?_

The queen scowled outwardly. Inwardly, she summoned the visions to her mind. Memories. Seen through the eyes of her minions. The fire in space. Their deaths on the ground. There was a human word for events like Dylar IV – disaster.

_Space._

Space. Terran battlecruisers exiting from warp space. Her aerospace strains buckling under a bombardment of laser fire. She hadn't anticipated any strong naval space force arriving in time, or even having the capacity for deployment. She'd sent her minions through a wormhole, not anticipating that they might need space support of their own.

_Land._

Land. The terrans and protoss on the ground. Her minions hounding them. The canyon. The detonations. Terrans, protoss, and…and…

_And Jim._

She watched him through the eyes of her minions. Watched him lead. Watched him fight. Felt some part of her wonder how he'd grown so…_old…_in just two years. Part of her wanted to kill him and be done with it. Part of her wanted to laugh, to congratulate her former ally for actually defeating her. Part of her wanted to send the Swarm back to the fourth planet of the Dylar system, to finish what she started.

_Don't._

And there was that other voice. A whisper in the dark. Keeping her at bay. As it had done so since the end of the Brood War.

The queen shook it off. Dylar had been a defeat, but she'd learnt from it. Her foes still possessed strength. Enough to give the zerg pause. Enough to make her go back to the images, and against a feeling that she tried to suppress, look past Jim. Look at the one fighting beside those among him. Not terran. Not protoss. Something…different.

_Mutate._

She focussed on the creature, tearing zerglings apart with her bare hands, watching her send spines right back at hydralisks. A mutate. A mockery of the zerg. A corruption. A _perversion_. Something…she would have to balance out, she told herself. Get rid of. Eradicate. Exterminate.

_Assimilate?_

With a snarl, she dismissed the memories. With control, she refocussed her mind.

Time was on her side, she told herself. Time had always been on the zerg's side. They could wait. They could plan. Adapt. She could wait until the last of those who knew her as the Queen of Blades, let alone Sarah Kerrigan, had passed from this world, if she wanted. But she didn't want that. The being once known as Sarah Kerrigan wanted blood. Wanted challenge. Wanted…something else.

_What?_

_Irrelevant._

_When?_

_Not yet._

Not yet. She couldn't return yet.

But she could plan.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, this was a long time coming. Can't be sure how long as I don't date the notebooks used for storytelling, but...well, let's just say it was conceived well before _StarCraft II _was released. And before _StarCraft Adventures _was deemed non-canon. To which I say "meh, I'm an inclusionist." _

_Funny thing about this prologue in that I never intended it to be a prologue at all. I'd written it as the start of ch. 1, but ended up removing it (and a plenthora of other material) as I moved through the story. Ended up putting it back in though, as while it gave Kerrigan an early reveal, it did provide "the hook," as the literary term goes (or hopefully at least), and found that without it, "the hook" came in too late to the story. Still, as I tacked in an epilogue at the end, decided it would be best to balance it out with a prologue. Short, but...well, had numerous revisions in writing this, so I figure all's fair._


	2. Setting Course

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 1: Setting Course**

"Releasing docking clamps in three…two…one…mark."

A 'thunk' sounded throughout the ship.

"Docking clamps release. Activating warp drive cycle."

"ETA of departure?"

"Ninety ticks."

"Good. Keep me informed."

"Aye sir."

Through the viewscreen, Watson watched the _Babylon _recede into the darkness of space. It had been like most space platforms he'd visited – drab, patchy, and with a seedy underbelly that the enlisted always found their way to.

"Missing it sir?"

A hive of scum and villainy that he'd stayed clear from himself. Whether Turner had was another matter.

"Can't miss what I never experienced."

"Fine. Regretted then. Bemoaned. Aggrieved."

"Focus on your duties Commander."

"And those are, Sir?"

Watson looked at his XO. "The starmap," he said. "Boot it up."

"Aye," Turner said. He walked over before glancing back. "Sir."

Watson walked over to the bridge window. The bridge crew worked quickly and efficiently, and already the _Babylon _was far enough away to mask its specific structure, a blemish on the expanse of the universe. His officers worked as one. Worked efficiently, as if the ship's movement corresponded to their sense of purpose. If the bridge officers had any regrets about leaving the space platform, they weren't showing it.

_And do I?_

Watson looked at himself in the glass's reflection. Grey hair around his ears, a bald head, a pointed nose but otherwise no distinguishing features. He liked it that way. He was a captain in the Dominion Fleet, here to do a job. Distinguishing features just got in the way of that.

_Like space platforms._

"Starmap ready sir.

Watson glanced round at Turner. His black uniform was the same as his bar the chevrons of a commander, but his face was something else. Black hair, grey eyes, pale skin – he did his job, but that was all he did – his job.

"Sir?"

But he did it well enough. So when Watson handed him a data chip, he trusted his XO to insert it into one of the holo-table's ports without hesitation. And also without hesitation, he picked up a radio from the table.

"This is Athena Actual, to Athena Crew. Stand to attention for orders."

The bridge crew did, all turning round from their chairs. Throughout the decks of the frigate, Watson imagined the rest of the crew during the same. Provided the swabbies weren't doing up their pants from their stay.

"As entertaining as our stay on the _Babylon _was, I'm afraid duty calls. The supplies, hardware, and medical staff we picked up from the space station will be transported to the fringe world of Ballast, about two days warp travel from here." He paused, wondering if he should voice regret of the lack of action, or relief.

"That is all. Athena Actual out."

He decided neither.

"Nice speech sir. Quick and to the point. Might want some 'for the Dominion' stuff though."

Watson looked at Turner. "Something the matter Commander?"

"No Sir. Just an observation. Sir."

"Fine. So observe this."

The star chart that appeared courtesy of the data chip didn't leave much to observe that hadn't been covered in the speech. Nestled away in the Lanz Expanse was the _Babylon_. On the other end of the route was the fringe system of Caja, specifically the planet-

"Ballast," Turner said, zooming in on the fringe world. "Funny name."

"Not really," Watson said, watching the planetoid catalogue data scroll by the world. "Ballast. A fringe world."

"Huh?"

The captain looked at his XO. "Ballast, as in the stuff that comes from a ship. Left behind."

"Oh. And is that changing?"

"Officially, yes." Watson zoomed out from the display. "Officially, the Dominion is stepping in to make up for Confederate neglect."

"And unofficially?"

"We deliver the goods, give the news jackals something to report on, and pick up a medical team for where they're better needed."

"Such as?"

"Anywhere but a world named Ballast."

The commander snorted. He then started pulling out a hypodermic from one of his uniform's pockets.

"It's Agria specifically, and technically it's standard rotation," Watson continued. "But…well, you know the situation."

Turner injected the hypodermic into his neck. "What, that the Dominion's battered and bruised, and there's only so many parts of the body we can heal?" He withdrew the needle. "Course I do sir. Whole crew does."

"And does that bother you?"

"Does it matter if I don't let it interfere with my job?"

"No," Watson said, deactivating the starmap. "I suppose not."

An uneasy silence passed between the two men. Turner was right, the captain reflected. Thoughts weren't a crime. Not yet anyway, and on a tiny frigate like this, operating on the fringes of the Koprulu sector, he supposed divergent thoughts wouldn't have mattered if they _were _a crime either.

"Anyway, if it's alright with you sir, I'll check the shuttles," the commander said. "Unless there's any objections."

Watson flexed a fist. Turner's attitude grated him sometimes, and he knew that it grated the crew as well. But he was right. So gesturing with his hand to the bridge exit, he watched as the XO departed.

"Mister Mercer," he said to his navigator. "Set a course."

"Aye sir."

In the centre of the bridge, Watson looked at the darkness of space.

It was at times like this that it felt like the universe watched him as well.

* * *

"Now remember Jeffrey. Apply the cream three times a day. Any less then the rash will spread. Any more and-"

"Yeah mister, three times a day." The nine year old looked up at the medic. "Now where's my lollipop?"

Henderson sighed, but nonetheless obliged, handing over the jar to the little brat. Picking a framberry flavoured one, the child ran out of the room. Groaning, the medic leant back in his chair.

_Please tell me it's five._

Thunder rolled.

_Thank you._

Henderson looked around the office. It was meant for an actual doctor, not a medic who had been dumped here one year ago in a token effort to show the Dominion still cared about its citizens. In truth, Henderson didn't mind too much. It was more people like Jeffrey Meguro who tested his patience more than anything.

_But you don't test it do you? _he thought, looking at the approaching storm. _You always make it in on time._

Hurricane Apgo was what the people of d'Adda, Ballast, called the storm. A freak of nature that occurred at 1700 local time, once a day, every day. Ballast's weather system was comparatively static, almost always overcast, and from the year Henderson had spent on the world, a planet that lived up to its namesake. The type of planet that any starship captain would be happy to see the back of.

_And will I be happy?_ he wondered, watching as the first droplets of rain hit the office window. _Will the people?_

He didn't know. He'd received word that he was being replaced. But over the past year, for every Jeffrey Meguro he'd encountered, there were two people who were the opposite. People who were grateful for what he and his team did, regardless of their political affiliation or lack thereof. Confederacy, Dominion, such things were beyond the concerns of Ballast's population. And Henderson liked them all the more for it.

"I swear to God, if I get one more call about a bloody cold, I'm going to shove my hands down the bastard's throat and rip out his beating heart!"

Which, right now, was more than he could say for one of his colleagues. One of them who came barging into his office like an aggravated rhynadon.

"River," Henderson said, forcing on a smile. "See you wasted no time."

"I've wasted ten hours of my life today," his co-worker said, reaching for the lollipop jar with one hand while pulling out a cigarette with her other. "I'm not wasting any more."

"No, of course not," Henderson said. He watched as she drew out a lemon-flavoured lollipop. "Lemon eh? No wonder you're so bitter."

"What?!"

"Nothing," Henderson said, taking a seat and putting his feet on the desk. "Nothing…"

River grunted and lit the cigarette. Thus began the process of alternating between the two.

"Seriously, if I get one more brat asking me…"

Henderson drowned her out. At thirty-three years of age, River Noble was the eldest member of his team. She was also the most loudmouthed. The type of person with fiery red hair, and with the explicit desire to be 'back in action' as she put it. Exactly what action she never specified, but Henderson could imagine. The type of action that had begun three years ago. The type of action that involved aliens, war, and more war. The type of action he wanted nothing to do with.

"Um, Henderson?"

The type of action that Amanda wanted to stay clear of also.

The medic watched as the third member of his team walked gingerly into his office. In the midst of exchanging between cigarette and lollipop, River looked at her as well.

"Took you long enough," she snapped.

"I-"

"And for God's sake, would it kill you to dress properly?"

"I-"

"Lay off it River," Henderson murmured.

River glared at him. "Oh. Right. Lay off it. Suppose you don't mind Amanda dressing like a-"

"I'll…I'll change if you want," Amanda whispered.

"No, it's fine," Henderson said. "It's…fine."

Fine. He wondered if he really felt that. Whether it was okay for Amanda to dress in blue jeans and a white vest, as if she were some kind of grease monkey and not a stand-in at a clinic.

_I suppose you know though, _he thought, looking at the medic, her blue eyes matching his brown ones, her pale skin standing in contrast to his darker pigmentation. _Isn't that right?_

Amanda didn't meet his gaze.

"Anyway, why are we here?" River snapped. "Make it quick, will you? Club Pascoe opens in an hour."

"Ah, yes," Henderson said. He typed some buttons on his laptop, currently mounded on the desk. "Enjoy it while you can River."

His colleague sniffed. "What do you mean, _while I can_?"

"We're leaving," Amanda whispered, as if in a trance. "A new world…"

"What?" River asked.

"What Amanda said," Henderson answered, turning the laptop to face the two women. "Because in a few days' time, you won't be able to."

Henderson knew what River and Amanda were seeing, provided the laptop wasn't glitching up again. They'd be seeing a missive they'd received from the DS _Athena_. A missive that detailed departure time from Partia Starport in a few days' time. Along with a transfer to-

"Agria," River murmured. "Fekk, what the hell is Agria?"

"A planet," Amanda whispered.

"Okay, let me rephrase that," River snarled. "Why are we being transferred to another motherfekkin backwater planet that I've never heard of?!"

"It…it sounds nice," Amanda whispered. "I mean…Ag…as in, agriculture-"

"More rednecks in space!" River exclaimed, throwing her cigarette down onto the wooden floor and extinguishing it before a fire could start. "Christ!"

"Look," Henderson said firmly. "You want to fight the good fight, treat soldiers with stars in your eyes, fine. But orders are orders. So if Captain Watson wants to bring us out, we'll be there. No questions asked."

"But…the people-"

"Will get a new team, and new supplies," Henderson said, answering Amanda's question. "Don't worry."

River snorted.

"And it's non-negotiable."

River snorted again.

"Got a cold?"

River went to say something. But she stopped short and decided to storm out of the room instead. Slamming the door behind her, causing Amanda to wince.

"Huh," Henderson said, turning the laptop off. "I'd have thought she'd be happy to leave."

Amanda shrugged.

"What about you Amanda?" Henderson asked. "You okay?"

"Are you?" she whispered.

"I…" He trailed off. "Haven't really considered that actually."

Amanda nodded as she retrieved a strawberry-flavoured lollipop. "I know," she whispered.

"Yeah," Henderson murmured, spinning his chair back to the window. To the rain. To the universe laughing at him. A universe of alien sociopaths, genocidal insects, and the screwed race that was humanity caught in-between. "You always do."

* * *

_A/N_

_As per issues raised in reviews:_

_-While this is indeed a prequel to _Hybrid _(stated as such on my homepage), I don't see Haley and Izsha being the same individual. While I love the idea of it, the lack of any mention of this in HotS or on Izsha's SC2 character page leads me to conclude the idea was dropped. Which, given how many of the original plot points of HotS were dropped/altered, wouldn't surprise me. :(_

_-_StarCraft Adventures _was a _StarCraft _tabletop RPG released in 2000, that period of time after _Brood War _but before the announcement of SC2. It was declared non-canon, which personally iffed me because a) there was nothing that inherently contradicted current lore or couldn't be accomodated, b) elements of the game had already been incorporated into various EU works (e.g. various firearms) and c) had some lore tidbits that weren't found elsewhere (e.g. the origins of the archon), which as a wiki editor, makes editing hell when it comes to source segregation. On the other hand, I'm personally glad that the Alliance won't pop up in the future. All in all, probably best to treat SA in the same vein as _HunCraft_ - a pseudo-official "what if?" scenario that was to continue from where BW left off, only not as horrible plot-wise. _


	3. Preparations

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 2: Preparations**

"Exiting warp space in three…two…one…mark."

As with everyone else on their feet, Watson stumbled as the frigate entered the material universe, leaving the purple, shifting energy stream of the warp behind. In contrast, the void of space stared back at him.

"Status?" Watson asked.

"We're at Caja," Mercer answered. The starmap displayed a hologram of the star system, including the _Athena_. "Our back's to the sun, but according to our sensors its spectral characteristics meet its stellar classification record."

"And Ballast?"

"Coming up now sir," said Cawthorne, an ensign and one of the frigate's two pilots. "By our angle of approach we should be getting a view of the planet…now."

The frigate turned upwards (if "up" could really be applied in the context of space) and before them, lay Ballast. Watson walked up towards the viewscreen. Turner joined him.

"So that's Ballast," the commander said. "Bit of a shithole ain't it?"

Watson frowned, but otherwise remained silent. "Shithole" wasn't the word he would have used, but he supposed Turner wasn't far off. Grey clouds, dark green landscapes with deserts, dark seas. It was as if someone had taken a picture of Tarsonis or Umoja and applied some kind of filter to remove any sense of beauty those planets had. Granted, Tarsonis wasn't looking too good itself nowadays, and his chances of ever seeing Umoja in person were non-existent while those race traitors did their independence thing, but-

"Sir?"

Watson snapped himself out of his reverie. "Nice place," he said.

"Pardon?"

"This. Ballast. The fringes of terran civilization. Proof that Man can extend his reach to the furthest corners of the stars. Testament to the shining beacon of Dominion civilization. A statement that, 'we're still here.' Let zerg come. Let protoss come. Let race traitors and belligerents from Earth come. We're still here."

"Yes sir, we are," Turner said. "So what are your orders?"

"Pardon?"

"I said," the XO repeated, drawing out a syringe, "what are your orders?"

"Oh," the captain said, strengthening his uniform. "Right. Orders."

He heard Turner mutter something under his breath before injecting himself in his neck. What it was, he couldn't make out. Not that he tried. Some things weren't worth knowing.

"Vasle," he asked his communications officer. "Any hails from the planet?"

"No sir. Not even from Partita."

Watson frowned. "Any signs of-"

"Sir, it doesn't necessarily mean anything," Mercer ventured, turning around in his chair. "They may not have the means to detect us. They may be waiting for us to make contact."

It was a bit out of place. But at 115 years old, and a former member of the Colonial Fleet who'd transferred into Mengsk's new order willingly, Watson had come to rely on Mercer's judgement on more than one occasion.

"Alright," Watson said, turning back to Vasle. "Open hailing frequencies. Let's knock on the door before kicking it down."

"Great," Turner said. "You do that. "Meanwhile, if it's alright with you, I'll head for the shuttle bay and greet our guests." He started walking for the door.

"Commander."

And stopped, as he turned to Watson. The captain stepped forward.

"Commander, you have leave from my ship, to escort our supplies and personnel to Partita Starport, and to represent the Dominion on the surface. But you will do that only when I give you permission for that."

"Fine," Turner said. "So do I have permission?"

"You do. This time."

"Fine," the commander answered, saluting. "Sir."

Watson saluted back and watched his XO leave the bridge.

He liked Turner. At the end of the day, Turner was someone he could rely on. But he'd been increasingly agitated over the last few days, and while warp travel could account for that given its adverse effects on the human body, there was no reason he should be in any worse shape than anyone.

_Try to play nice with the locals Turner, _he thought as he turned back to his bridge crew. _Even if you can't do it up here._

Playing nice, the captain reflected. It was something that humanity never seemed to be capable of. And with aliens threatening them from without, and the scum of mankind threatening them from within, it was a luxury the terran species might not have anyway.

Still, Watson could dare to hope.

* * *

Partita Starport was inappropriately named.

It was Amanda's thought when she, River and Henderson had arrived here one year ago, and in the year since that, nothing had been done to alter her assessment. Starports as she imagined (and in some cases, seen), were big, sprawling structures, both on ground and in space. Hubs of commerce and exploration. Bastions of humanity. Crawling from ships that would take someone to a moon, to monolithic starships set to embark on journeys to stars hundreds of light years away. In contrast, Partita consisted of a single airstrip for atmospheric craft, and a few landing pads for ships with VTOL capabilities. None of them capable of hosting anything larger than a container ship.

"I hate this place," River sniffed as the trio of medics stood by one of the landing pads, waiting for their transport to arrive. "Sooner we're off this dump the better."

"Yeah, I'm sure the Dominion will be much better," Henderson murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Amanda knew that River had thought the same as she had when they came here a year ago, and not just because she'd said it. She knew that Henderson was indifferent to Partia's stature a year ago, and not just because he remained silent. Letting her mind run free for a second, she could sense that River's views hadn't changed, while Henderson was going to miss it the place.

"Amanda?"

And she shivered as she withdrew her mind into her own head.

"You okay?"

The medic nodded. It was cold and drizzling, as was usual for Ballast, and the anorak she was wearing was only helping solve the latter part of that problem. She wondered if Henderson felt the same way. Biting her lip, she fought the urge to find out.

"Fekk, they're here. Bout time."

_Don't swear, _Amanda thought. But River had a point – they'd been waiting fifteen minutes longer than they should have, and only now was a quartet of shuttles descending from the sky, all of them glowing from the heat of re-entry, contrasting with the blue glow of their ion thrusters.

"Four shuttles," Henderson murmured. "How nice."

Amanda could tell from just his voice that he didn't mean it. Shuttles were meant for carrying people. Any cargo they brought would be miniscule in comparison to what Ballast really needed. Fuel. Medicine. Weapons. Not that there was really anything preventing the planet's population from being wiped from existence if the zerg or protoss really wanted to do such a thing, but…

Amanda shivered again. Weapons. Aliens. She wanted nothing to do with them. And as the shuttles landed, as she saw an office step down the stairs of one of them while SCVs lumbered up to unload the cargo from the other three, she reflected that she didn't want much to do with the Dominion right now either.

_It's okay. Just get on the ship. You'll be fine. Quick trip to Agria and-_

"Lieutenant Henderson?"

Amanda kept quiet. And her thoughts fell silent as well.

The officer kept standing there in front of them on the tarmac, just outside the encircled ring of the landing pad.

"Is there something wrong with your hearing, Lieutenant?"

"No sir," Henderson murmured. "Nothing."

Amanda bit her lip. On the other side of the pad she could see some medical staff disembarking, hover cameras surrounding them as they made their way to the single story building that served as customs. Protocol and a vid-feed for UNN. Typical. Just as Henderson was acting in his typical fashion as well.

"Indeed?" the officer murmured. "I was confused. You see, I thought I addressed you by rank. I thought you would respond and salute. And I thought," he said, nudging him in his anorak, "that you would have the courtesy to wear your dress uniforms as well."

"Men," River snorted. "Typical."

_Please don't draw attention, please don't draw attention…_

"It's raining, so I wanted to be warm," Henderson answered, his voice just as controlled as the officer's. "I haven't worn my dress uniform in a year, and at most, I'll have to wear it for a few days on the _Athena_. And I've also gone a year without saluting as well, so forgive me for being out of practice Commander."

"I didn't tell you my rank."

"No, you didn't. But I haven't forgotten the Dominion Navy's insignia code."

Henderson gestured to the chevrons on the man's shoulders, the gold bands standing in contrast to the otherwise black uniform. River sighed. And the man began to chuckle.

"I like you Lieutenant," he said, shaking his hand. "I'm Commander Lomax Turner. And if it were up to me, I'd let you treat me like a non-con all week." His eyes narrowed. "But as word of advice, Captain Watson is a bit more…old school. So as his XO, I'd advise you to treat him with the pomp and circumstance he expects."

"I'll do that."

Amanda winced. She knew when Henderson was lying.

As if triggered by a silent signal, the quarter began walking. River went ahead of them, en route to the shuttle's hatch, skirting by the dockhands in the midst of refuelling and inspecting the craft. Henderson and the commander walked side by side. Amanda kept her head down. And her thoughts to herself.

"And this is my other colleague, Amanda Haley," Henderson said. Both men glanced back at her. Turner in particular. She tried to meet his gaze.

"You're a quiet one," he said.

"I…um…"

"Very quiet."

Amanda managed to meet the man's gaze…and raised an eyebrow. Black hair, grey eyes, pale, unblemished skin…he looked so…artificial. Like one of those celebrities that graced UNN, all with the same cookie cutter, aesthetically perfect face designed to get the crowd staring at them like a bunch of slack-jawed fringe worlders. Subconsciously, she brushed some of her own blonde hair aside. Subconsciously, she reached towards the commander's mind.

"Well, whatever," Turner said. "Seen and not heard, introvert rather than extrovert, I'm sure you'll serve the Dominion fine."

And she withdrew her mind back, fighting temptation, doing her best to keep her promise to let people's thoughts be her own. And feeling terror rising within her.

_Oh God, did he sense me? He can't be a telepath can he? Oh…oh shit. I…no. It's fine. All fine. I…I'm fine. I'll serve…the Dominion fine._

It was true. She liked helping people. She was fine serving the Dominion. As long as it didn't involve serving them in…other ways.

_No! I won't! Not like that!_

Amanda quickened her pace. And not just because of the rain.

"The Athena's on a tight schedule," she heard Turner say. "Quick trip up, then straight to Agria."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Henderson said.

"Yeah," the commander mused, walking up the steps that led into the shuttle's passenger bay. "I'm sure it will…"

Henderson followed. Casting out one last look at Partita and the surrounding area, Amanda…wasn't sure.

_Just a trip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just keep my thoughts to myself and…_

She trailed off, watching as a flock of emkwis landed on the grass outside the fence that surrounded the starport. Hunting for fiddlers in the moist soil. Animals of instinct. Content with their place in the world. Flightless birds that according to the few scientists who'd studied them, possessed no ancestors that had ever taken flight at all and had remained ground-bound like their lizard ancestors. Content with their place on this world.

"Come on Amanda," Henderson said from the passenger hatch. "You'll catch a cold out there."

Nodding, Amanda trudged up the stairs. She knew she would never be content. She was a human, and a…different, human at that. She could never be free like those birds.

All she could do was strap herself in, wait for the shuttle to be refuelled, get to the _Athena_, and stay in her quarters for the whole trip.

It was a practice she'd long since gotten used to.


	4. Departure

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 3: Departure**

**Warp drive station, please respond.**

_Fekk._

**Warp drive station, please respond.**

_I'm getting there, I'm getting there._

**Petty Officer Third Class Lambert Parker, please respond.**

_Fekk!_

Lambert didn't want to keep Captain Watson waiting. Professionally, there was no reason to do it unless she wanted to jeopardize her own career, and personally, the captain deserved better. But the warp drive was acting up, she was in a hurry, under pressure from numerous sources, and as she tripped, scattering her toolbox and the tools it held out in front of her, that pressure only increased.

_Oh come on!_

**Officer Parker, you-**

"Yeah!" she called out to the intercom. "Just…give me a tick, okay?"

**I've given you many ticks Officer Parker.**

"Yeah, well…I'm not itching enough, okay? Just…give me a tick. Or microtick. Or-

**Just get my ship working. Navigation's almost ready. **

The intercom shut down with a crackle. Cursing, Lambert leant against the railing of the walkway she was standing on, wiping a hand through her dark hair and letting it come out drenched in sweat.

_Ballast. We want to leave it like the people who named the dirtball, and I can't get us moving._

Lambert glanced down at the warp drive. The machine itself was fine, only it wasn't getting enough power from the generators needed to fire the damn thing up. As problems went, it wasn't too bad – Lambert knew enough about warp drives to realize that an underpowered warp drive was preferable to dealing with an overpowered one that was running the risk of a rupture. But this was a frigate with a skeleton crew, and she was the _Athena_'s warp rat. So all this was on her. And the whole crew knew it.

_Fekk._

So the knelt down for the tools. Lasers, welders, cutters…all back in the box. All but her hydro-spanner.

_Come on, where is-_

"You looking for this?"

…_it?_

From her hands and knees, Lambert looked upwards. And from above, a woman looked down at her. Holding the tool she sought.

"Um, yeah," Lambert said, taking the spanner and getting to her feet. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me kid, I just want this ship to get moving," the woman said. "From what I hear, you're the one holding us back."

Lambert frowned. "I'm not the one holding us back, a faulty connection is holding us back."

"So fix it." The woman bent down and handed her the toolbox. "Now."

Still frowning, Lambert took the box and began walking down the walkway. Over the din of the engine room, she could hear the woman following her.

"You're new to this ship aren't you?" she called out.

"What makes you say that?"

"Your face." Lambert stopped at the faulty power conduit. "Captain Watson runs a tight ship, and there ain't that much privacy." She glanced at the woman. "Haven't seen your face before."

"No, you wouldn't have." The woman walked up to her. "Lieutenant River Noble, Dominion Navy Medical Corps. I'm one of the medics picked up from Ballast."

Lambert raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh, just…um…"

"Come on kid, spit it out."

"It's just that, well, from my experience there's medics and machinists. Would have taken you for more of a people person. Not the type of person who comes down here."

"I'm the type of person who wants to get to Agria ASAP. I'm also the person who can pull rank on you if need be. Your XO made it clear that rank is valued on this boat."

"Not on this level of the ship it isn't," Lambert said. "But it's just me down here anyway unless an accident happens."

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Which is rare," Lambert added hastily. "And never life-threatening."

"I'll take comfort from that when I'm on Agria," River murmured

Lambert bit her lip. She wasn't used to people looking over her shoulder. All things considered, she wasn't used to people down here period. Removing the conduit's panel, revealing the wires beneath it, the hoped the lieutenant would just leave.

"So seriously, you work down here alone?"

Lambert bit harder.

"Kid?"

"Yes, I do." She took out a power scanner, measuring the flows of electricity. "This is a _Nymph_-class frigate. It's meant to work with minimal staff."

"And that includes children." The lieutenant laughed. "What are you, sixteen?"

"Shut up."

"Seventeen?"

"Shut up!" Lambert snapped, glaring at the medic. She just stood there.

"I'm nineteen."

"Close enough."

Scowling, Lambert kept working. Which, according to the power scanner, was a state of existence she'd have to keep up with for the next few ticks.

"How'd you get on a ship like this?"

"I grew up on space platforms," Lambert said, opening up another conduit and scowling as she saw the fried wires. "That can be a valuable commodity for the Dominion in terms of experience. And after the Brood War, they take what they can get."

Lambert glanced back at River. She was fiddling with something in one of her pockets.

"You alright?"

The something turned out to be a cigarette and laser lighter.

"Hey, you can't smoke in-"

The cigarette was lit.

"Nevermind."

River smirked, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. "Privilege of rank kiddo."

"Great. Remind me to try for a commission sometime."

Lambert returned her focus to the wires. Looking at them now, it was a simple job. Fixing the problem was a question of time, not effort. Time that her new 'friend' was wasting.

Still, she had to admit, there was a certain charm to this. She liked the crew, and she liked to think they liked her as well, but there was rarely any interaction. But in these last few minutes, she'd said more words with River Noble than she had with the entire deck staff the past week, if not month. So while part of her mind cautioned her against it, the rest of her mind willed her mouth to keep moving.

"So what's your story?" Lambert asked. "What made you a medic?"

"Failed med school."

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm still qualified." River laughed. "But the Dominion knows where true talent lies, and they thought I'd be better suited on the frontline rather than serving the cream of the crop on Tyrador Nine."

"So, you were…conscripted?"

"Reassigned, technically." River blew out another wisp of smoke. "The hospital was state run, it was a simple matter as far as red tape went. And after spending a year on Ballast, I suppose I can't complain."

Lambert chuckled.

"But I do complain. It's therapeutic. Especially when my colleagues are some goody two-shoes prat and a girl who can't even seem to speak properly." She smirked. "Kinda like you really. Blonde hair instead of black, Caucasian instead of Asiatic, few years older, but…ah, well, I can always change pets."

Lambert didn't like being called "pet." But the level of dislike wasn't that high. With her red hair, hard features, and down-to-ground attitude, there was a certain charm to River Noble, she thought. A directness that was like Captain Watson, but also different. The directness that came through in every facet, not just in speech.

**Parker? Status report.**

_Speak of the devil. _"Here Captain," she said to the intercom, fixing the last of the wires. "Just finishing."

**Good. Mister Mercer was getting impatient.**

"Yeah," the mechanic said, glancing at River. _She wasn't the only one getting impatient. _"But we're good to go."

**Good. Watson out.**

The intercom crackled off. And wiping her hair with one hand while closing the toolbox with the other, Lambert glanced at her superior.

"Nice job kid," River said. She took out a cancer stick. "Cigarette?"

It was Lambert's first instinct to say "no." Health, regulations, the risks of lighting up such a thing in an oxygenated environment…

"Sure," she said. "Why not?"

Instinct, however, didn't always have to be followed.

And besides, she told herself, River Noble outranked her. How could she have said no?

* * *

**Here Captain. Just finishing.**

"Good. Mister Mercer was getting impatient."

**Yeah. But we're good to go.**

"Good. Watson out."

The captain remained standing. The crew remained operating. The only change was the crackle of the intercom that signalled Lambert terminating the connection, after finally getting the warp drive working.

_We might have to work on that._

But not now, Watson told himself. And the problem could just as soon be solved by assigning more engineers to the task than getting Lambert to increase her productivity. Granted, the _Athena _could have used more crew all around. Mercer was another case in point. He did his job well, but he was nodding off.

"Karl?"

"I'm fine sir," he said. "Really."

"Mercer, the jump can wait until tomorrow."

"No, really, I'm fine," he said. He rubbed his shadowed eyes before gesturing to his terminal. "Most of the warp coordinates are locked. I've got an algorithm running that'll take us into warp a few hours from now."

"During night shift."

Mercer yawned. "Sir, if you-"

"No, it's fine," Watson said, patting the navigator on the shoulder. "Get some rest Karl. You've earned it."

"Yes sir," the navigator said, getting to his feet. "Thank you sir."

Watson smiled. Mercer smiled back. Slowly, he began walking across the bridge to the exit.

_He's getting even slower._

In an ideal universe, Karl Mercer would have retired years ago. In an ideal universe, Watson would have had a ship with a larger crew, enough to keep all stations manned twenty-seven hours a day. He glanced at his timepiece, the device showing the time to be 26:14. He yawned.

"Ah, don't do that," he heard Turner say. "You're making me tired as well."

Watson looked at the commander, currently leaning against a wall on the far side of the bridge. He wasn't yawning. But he was looking agitated, fiddling with his fingers, glancing over at the navigation console. Little tells that he'd gotten used to over the past two years.

_Ruling Fathers, you'd think he'd have got them under control by now._

"Um, Captain? If I'm needed?"

_And while we've got company._

Watson turned to one of the few other people on the bridge, and the only one besides himself and his XO that was standing. And still in place, dressed in civilian garb, Lieutenant Henderson looked back at him.

"It's night shift, I get it," the medic said. "You don't have to debrief me now."

"Debriefing?" Watson asked, walking over to the starmap's holo-table and leaning down over that. "Who said anything about debriefing you?"

"Um-"

"Son, I run a tight ship. The crew's my family. For the next few days, you're part of that family." He glanced at Turner, still leaning against the wall, then back at Henderson, trying to stifle a yawn. "I only think it's best I get to know you." He let the yawn out. "Shame your colleagues couldn't stay."

"Amanda and River do their own thing."

"And you let them," Watson said. "Despite having command."

"We worked at a clinic on Ballast with civvies for the past year sir. There was no need to assert command."

"Indeed," Watson said, standing up straight. "I see that it's rubbed off on you in terms of attire."

Henderson remained standing impassively. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, plain face…he reminded him of Turner in a way, the CO reflected, as far as vision went. Henderson was…plain. Only the plainness came naturally whereas Turner's always struck him as being artificial.

"Look, I'll get this over with," Watson said. "I'm Captain Howard Watson. You're part of my crew until we reach Agria. Until that time of arrival, I expect you to address me and Commander Lomax Turner with all due respect befitting a Dominion officer. And that includes wearing your dress uniform."

"Yes Sir. Is that all Sir?"

Watson's mouth opened. Some strange hybrid of chuckle/yawn/sigh came out. He didn't care which.

"What's your history Henderson?" he asked. "Past year on Ballast can't have been fun but-"

"Lieutenant Henderson, Dominion Navy Medical Corps," the medic said as he put his hands behind his back, his voice bearing the tone of someone who'd recited the words too often for his liking. "Enlisted in March of 2500 voluntarily. Received my officer's commission under emergency circumstances due to the Brood War. Was present on Urthos Three during that conflict. Was stationed at Augustrad in the war's aftermath to help treat survivors of the UED occupation and zerg invasion. Transferred to Ballast in April of last year." He released his hands. "Then I came here."

Watson studied the man for a moment. The words seemed genuine – he'd addressed enough COs, NCOs, and resocs to get a gauge of people. But they were missing something…fire. Passion. Drive. One of those things.

"That's quite a story Lieutenant."

"Well you'd know."

"Pardon?"

Henderson chuckled. "Come on Captain, I saw the cameras at the starport. The Dominion is out here, helping the people of Ballast, taking some eggs from one basket to the next to make its people believe it's doing some good."

"The Dominion _does _do good," Watson said, his voice low.

"Really? I'm confused. I didn't think good meant screwing up diplomacy with the Kel-Morian Combine and Umojan Protectorate because our emperor's got a stick up his arse. I didn't think doing good involved sending out execution squads into the Korhal Wastes to pick off UED stragglers instead of treating them as prisoners of war. I didn't think 'doing good' involved making the Dominion a new Confederacy and clamping down everywhere, on everyone."

"Sometimes we have to do distasteful things to survive long enough to have the luxury of reflecting on them."

"So tell me, when's that luxury going to come? Because with people like Mengsk in charge that day's getting further and further away."

Watson took a step forward. He could feel Henderson's eyes on him. He could feel the eyes of the entire bridge crew.

"One more word, and I could have you shot," he whispered.

"Aren't I part of your family?" the lieutenant asked. "Wouldn't that be prolicide?"

Watson's gaze narrowed. "You've been on a dirthole for the past year Lieutenant, so I'll let this go. You're free to think what you want. You are _not _however, free to speak what you want. And so there's no misunderstanding, I don't want to hear anything come out of your filthy mouth unless it's absolutely necessary. Are we clear?"

Henderson didn't answer.

"Are we clear?!" Watson shouted.

"Ease off Captain," he heard Turner say, walking over. "I'm sure he meant no harm by it." He placed a hand on Watson's shoulders. "Besides, he's been with fringe squibs the past year. Something's bound to rub off on him."

_A shame loyalty and pride didn't._

Still, Turner had the right of it he supposed, in at least as much that it would be best to let it go. For now at least. Turning to the commander, he saw him take out a syringe, injecting his neck.

"What's that for?" Henderson asked.

Watson turned to him. "What did I just say about not-"

"Just curious," he said, stepping towards the commander. "What's the injection for?"

"That's hardly relevant Lieutenant," Watson said. "Commander Turner doesn't have to-"

"It's cancer," Turner said, pocking the syringe. "Nanoprobe injection to keep the cells in check."

"Oh really?" Henderson asked friendlily. "When did it develop?"

"After the Brood War." He nodded towards Watson. "It's in my medical file."

"And this is a regular thing? The injections?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh," Henderson said. "Nothing."

By the medic's tone and look on his face, it seemed anything _but _nothing. But Watson was past caring what Henderson thought.

"You're dismissed Lieutenant."

Against expectations, Henderson saluted. Watson, turning back to the viewport to get one last look at Ballast, didn't return it.

_Slike._

Men like Henderson would plunge the Dominion into the abyss, the captain reflected. People unable to see the bigger picture. Zerg, protoss, race traitors. It was do or die. All or nothing. Watson had seen things, done things, carried out the publicity stunt on Ballast that Henderson had called him out on. But he was a captain. A member of the Dominion Fleet. Such things, no matter how large or how small, were his duty.

"Well then," he heard Turner say. "That was…interesting."

Watson glanced at him. In light of Henderson, all of his XO's quips seemed like nothing.

"He wasn't any different on the planet either," Turner continued. "Maybe I'm overreacting but…well, might be good to keep an eye on him. Lieutenant Woods and her marines are itching for action."

"Action, not spying," Watson murmured. "But-"

"But what?"

"But nothing." Watson lied, pushing all his misgivings about Henderson to one side and hoping they'd stay there. He patted Turner on the shoulder, reflecting that at the end of the day, he was still a person he could count on. "You're a good man, Turner. You'll make a fine captain yourself one day."

Turner bowed slightly. "I aim to please sir."

"Good," Watson said, yawning. "Because you have the bridge. I'm off to bed."

* * *

Standing at the doorway to her quarters, Amanda reflected that life on Ballast hadn't been too bad.

True, she'd had to go through every night listening to a thunderstorm. But at least on Ballast she'd had her own quarters, part of an apartment block near the clinic where she worked. These quarters however, were beyond Spartan. Three bunk beds. A desk with a terminal located next to them. A wash basin that, after she turned its tap handle, she discovered didn't even work. And of the remaining space, there was only room to put a single rucksack. Or three, provided they were stacked on top of one another.

_Well, it's only for a few days, _the medic thought to herself. _Can't be too bad._

She walked in, putting her rucksack on the floor. The door closed with a hiss. And after some consideration, she headed for the top bunk. Sharing the room with Henderson and River would be bad enough, but she didn't want to be sleeping between them. To be wedged between two people. Two sources of thought.

Lying on the mattress, Amanda rubbed her eyes. It was the ship's night cycle, but the time difference from d'Adda meant that she was significantly out of sync, that by her former standard it was midday. Yet she still felt tired. All the thoughts of those around her. Strange thoughts. New thoughts. All bombarding her, trying to get into her mind. All belonging to people who'd turn her over to people with even worse thoughts if they discovered her abilities.

_They won't, _she told herself. _I…hope…not…_

Amanda rubbed her eyes again. She flexed her fingers. She tightened them into fists.

_I hate it._

She tightened them further.

_I hate this!_

And she slammed a fist against the cabin wall.

"Fekk!"

And paid the price as pain shot through her hand.

Thumping her head on the pillow, Amanda just wanted to sleep. Thoughts could still force their way into their mind when she wasn't awake, but they did so with far less regularity. On the other hand, she'd been sleeping by herself the past year, and never in recent memory had she slept so close to her teammates.

_If they knew…if I could…_

Do what, she wondered. Ask them to stop thinking so much? To tone down their thoughts? No. They were her friends, but she couldn't risk them knowing. Through them, others might know. And if she was to be punished for her evasion of the Ghost Program, they might be punished as well.

_And yet…_

And yet something was _wrong_, Amanda knew. She'd felt it ever since the shuttle had touched down at the starport. There was a mind here that was…off, somehow. Not off as in being brain-panned, she'd encountered enough resocs to know what their minds felt like. No, this mind was…different.

_Or it's just me._

Sighing, Amanda idly booted up her data pad. She'd accumulated a number of digi-tomes over the years, but she wasn't in the mind to start on a new story. It was an idle motion matched with the idle action of looking at the ship's schematics, a gift that she and her fellow medics had received on the shuttle ride. The ship was comprised of four necks designated by letter, A holding features such as the bridge and captain's quarters, B deck featuring the armoury and med-bay, C deck having general quarters like the one she was in now and the mess hall, and D deck elements such as the shuttle bay, engine and warp drive rooms, and brig. Turning the device off and leaning down over the bunk to drop it on her bag, Amanda made a note to try not to wander into any deck bar her own.

The medic closed her eyes. The feeling of something being…_wrong_, returned, and she pounded the mattress in frustration. Maybe it was just her, a 'bad feeling' playing tricks on her mind. If she went and told the captain about it, either he'd dismiss her, or probe her until he knew where this intuition came from, and then ship her off to Ursa. A prospect slightly less terrifying than the days of the Confederacy, but she knew the truth. The Ghost Program was still the Ghost Program. Telepaths were still teeps, teeks were still telekinetics, and she was both, and an individual who had escaped detection for twenty-one years of her life, and hopefully, for the rest of it.

_And just a few days, _she told herself. _A few days of this, then freedom. Almost. Maybe._

"Lights," she called out. With a flicker, the cabin's sole light flicked out.

In the dark, Amanda closed her eyes, and tried to close her mind. Her friends would come soon. They'd tease her about her early start. Henderson would complain about the Dominion, and River would complain about everything else. And like always, she'd do her best to remain quiet. And alone.

Amanda smiled sadly in the gloom. She was a telepath. She knew the thoughts of others.

Yet she was alone.

Always.

* * *

It was the night shift. Or graveyard shift as some called it. But whatever it was called, it suited the traitor just fine.

The bridge was empty, the traitor noticed as the doors opened. As empty as the void of space before the _Athena_. The ship had yet to enter warp. The navigation was set, all that was required was for the engines to charge up. Which was fine. Because enacting the directive meant access to the navigation console.

It was simple really. So simple, that the traitor wondered if it would even work. But it was the visitor's plan, and the plan had to be carried out. Hence why a data chip was inserted into one of the navigation terminal's sockets. Hence why the program was uploaded. Hence why after the chip was removed, it began dissolving, mimicking the defragging system that would remove any record of the chip having been inserted in the first place.

_So it's done._

Done. Completed. Finished. In a few seconds, this ship's fate had been sealed. In a few seconds, the visitor had done the job assigned.

And only a few seconds after that, the traitor existed the bridge. Silence and darkness returned once more.

And in the next hour, the ship entered warp space to its destination.

A _new _destination.

One from which there was no coming back.


	5. Star Trek

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 4: Star Trek**

"Come on Amanda, open up!"

"I'm not hungry."

"For fekk's sake Amanda, are you trying to starve yourself? Open the damn door!"

From the top bunk, Amanda glanced at the door to the quarters she and her colleagues shared. Her first instinct was to fry the door control, to prevent Henderson from entering and getting him to sod off. Her second instinct was to go against the first, a reminder that she was on a Dominion ship and using telekinesis would raise more than just a few eyebrows. And her third instinct, as the door opened up anyway and Henderson walked in, was to kick herself. Because instead of frying the controls, she'd opened it up. From a distance. And Henderson, wearing his dress uniform, was there to see the results.

"How'd you open the door if you're up there?" he asked, looking up at her bunk.

"I have my ways," she murmured. She picked up her datapad and continued reading _Splinter of the Mind_. "Why you here anyway?"

"You know why I'm here."

"No, I don't," Amanda said, bringing the datapad to her face. "I'm not a mind reader."

_Liar._

Amanda winced. Was that her thought, or Henderson's? And if it was the latter, what then? She sunk down further into the mattress, wishing she had more sheets on hand to bury herself under.

"I don't get you," Henderson said, beginning to pace around the room as best he could in the tight space. "You're a doctor for a year, treating people, then suddenly you're afraid to go out and have fun."

"I treated one person at a time," Amanda said softly. "I…just don't like crowds, y'know?"

"Then don't come to the mess hall," Henderson said, standing on the edge of the lower bunk so his head could be parallel to hers. "There's plenty of places to see. We'll be at Agria tonight and disembark tomorrow, you've only got so much-"

"No."

"I mean, we could catch a holo in the entertainment room. I think _The Perfect Psi-storm _is playing."

"No." _Like I need a reminder of psionics._

"I mean, yeah, we're on a boat, and storms hit the boats of Old Earth, but I think-"

"No!" Amanda brought her datapad down, hitting Henderson on the head with its back side. "I…I…"

And she blinked, letting the rage return to whence it came. The back of the pad was cracked. Henderson was on the ground. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead.

_Henderson…_

Amanda's first instinct was to get down and help him. She was a medic. Helping people was what she did. Her ability to see into people's minds had prompted her to take such a profession in the first place.

"Fekk…" Henderson said, slowly getting to his feet. "What's wrong with you?"

But Amanda's second instinct was to stand her ground. She couldn't go down. Not now. It was all or nothing.

"Just…leave me alone, okay?" Amanda said. "I just want to get to Agria and get off this boat, okay? Just…just…"

"Sure," Henderson murmured, stumbling to the door and resting his hand on his forehead. "Whatever."

Amanda bit her lip. She wanted to tell him. Tell him that something was _wrong_. Premonition, precognition, gut instinct, she didn't know. And she couldn't tell Henderson without revealing her abilities. And while she knew Henderson had little love for the Dominion, that like her he'd been placed on Ballast for the reason of "because we say so," secrets had a way of getting out. And by getting out of this room, she was running the risk of that secret being revealed.

Henderson exited the room without giving another look back. The door closed on its own.

And Amanda just lay her head back on her pillow, wishing it could just all be over.

* * *

"Fekk me Henderson, what happened? Ya pick a fight with a jarhead or something?"

Henderson ignored River's quip and took a seat opposite both her and the girl sitting next to her. Plastiscab had been applied for the wound Amanda had inflicted on him, and was now there for the world to see. Or at least everyone in the _Athena_'s mess hall.

"Henderson?"

The medic kept seated, rubbing his arms. His promise to wear a dress uniform to Watson had only lasted a few days, and so far the captain hadn't picked up on it. But as stuffy as the damn thing was, it at least kept him warm.

"Fine," River said. "Don't talk to me."

_I won't._

The medic looked down at his midday meal – an MRE from a dispenser, paid for by his credit chip, and looking as appealing as a zergling's innards. Mashed potato, peas, and meat that looked like it came from a skalet, but he couldn't be sure. All of it looking completely unappetizing. And as he took his first bite of the potato, tasting unappetizing as well.

_Ugh._

"Eh, cheer up," River said, apparently picking up on his distaste for the vegetable. "Food's bound to be better on Agria."

Henderson remained silent. He started poking his fork into the meat, wondering if it was worth the risk.

"Henderson? You listening?"

_Skalet, maybe? Cow? Can't be karak. Rhynadon? Heck, it's the Dominion. Wouldn't put it past them._

"Oh fekk you," River sighed. "Least Lambert's willing to talk. Right?"

"Oh yeah," said the other girl, wearing warp rat gear that made Henderson wonder why he had to wear his dress uniform while other members of the crew got off Scott-free. She chuckled. "This the sad-sack you were telling me about?"

"Fernando stick-up-my-arse Henderson? Yeah, that's the one."

Henderson winced. "I told you not to use my forename."

"Ah come on," River sniggered. "Is 'Fernando' really that bad?"

"Yes."

"Fine," River said. He watched her turn to the girl. "So, like I was saying, I was there on the bridge when-"

Henderson tuned River out. He knew the story. And he wasn't interested in listening. But as the skalet/cow/karak/rhynadon/whatever meat entered his gut, he realized he wasn't that interested in eating either.

_Maybe Amanda had the right idea._

Henderson sighed, resting his head in his hands before looking around the mess hall. Mess 'room' was probably the better term he thought, given that it was about the same size as an office wing. On one wall, he could see a poster of Emperor Mengsk, Dominion citizens, Korhal, and words extolling the virtues of fighting for all of them. On another he saw a dartboard, some crewmen partaking in a game. At another table he saw marines partaking in MRE cuisine – half of them shovelling the food in with gutso and being rowdy, the other half being silent and reserved. Volunteers and rescos respectively. Henderson had long since learned the difference.

"So bam, there I was, giving Commander Hirschbach the kiss of life when-"

Henderson ignored River's story. Instead, he watched as another woman joined the marines' table. The only woman there, and one that all of them took notice of. Silently, she sat. Silently, she began to eat. And while conversation continued at the table, it was far more subdued.

"Hey Parker," Henderson said, seeing and hearing both of the girls laughing, signalling that River's story was over and he could now interrupt. "Who's that?"

"Who?" Parker asked, still giggling from River's story.

"That," he said, gesturing towards the marine woman. "That…girl."

"Girl?" Parker laughed. "Word of advice newbie, don't call Lieutenant Jean Woods a girl. Otherwise she might make you one."

River snorted.

"Duly noted," Henderson said. "But this Woods, she's the platoon leader, right? Leads the marines of the ship?"

"Yeah, all thirty."

"They got a name?"

"Nah." Parker shoved some potato into her mouth and continued speaking through it. "Hodge podge of Brood War survivours. Haven't been organized into an actual unit or anything, they've just done their job here over the last two years."

Henderson sighed. "Sounds like us."

"Yeah, one place to another," River said, glancing at Parker with surprising…regret, Henderson decided, but he couldn't be sure. She looked at her fellow medic. "Well, we'll be at Agria soon. You want to get under the sheets Henderson, you only got a few hours to do it."

Henderson kept looking at the lieutenant. Tanned skin, black hair in a bun, a firm build, everything about her radiated no-nonsense. And a need to stay the fekk away.

Henderson sighed and looked back at his food as River started another story. _Girls, _he thought. _I'm surrounded by girls._

Which in a normal world wouldn't be too bad, he reflected. But his thoughts kept going back to Amanda. She'd been an introvert for as long as he could remember. True, he, she, and River had only been working together for the past year, but this was something else. She'd barely left the room, even taking meals in it. Still, given what she was, maybe-

**All hands, this is the captain, **came the voice of Captain Watson. **Prepare to enter real-space in thirty microticks.**

"Ah, damn," he heard Parker exclaim. "No windows here."

Henderson shrugged, letting the girls complain. He'd seen warp space before, he had no particular desire to see it again.

"Y'know that reminds me, did you by any chance ever read Professor Jana's Moebius Theory on warp navigation? I mean-"

_River's a medic, and she's hitting it off with a mechanic, _Henderson reflected, shoving his MRE to one side. _Go figure._

The ship gave a small jolt as it entered real-space.

_Aren't we at Agria a bit early? Weren't we a few hours away at least?_

Well, warp space navigation wasn't perfect, he supposed. And anyway, warp space screwed with the body's internal clock, and he wasn't due on Agra until tomorrow. He could use the extra time to re-acclimatize.

**Mister Mercer to the bridge please, Mister Mercer to the bridge.**

"Darn," Parker said. "Poor Karl's been called up."

"Karl?" River asked.

"Karl Mercer," Lambert said. "Ship's navigator."

_Watson was right, _Henderson reflected. _This is a tight ship._

He wished he could say the same of his crew. River had got along better with Parker over the last few intervals than he had over the last cycle. And Amanda…Amanda was only getting worse.

Sighing, Henderson got to his feet and made his way over to the dart board.

Maybe he could score a few credits before the day was out.

* * *

_He's getting worse._

Such were Watson's thoughts as he saw Mercer walk onto the bridge. No, not walk, he reflected. Hobble. Mercer was old, but now, summoned here to deal with the situation, it was apparent just how old he really was.

_Should have stayed retired, _the captain reflected. _Mengsk needs men, but dammit, not those at the end of their lives. _

And now, that might have cost them. Perhaps the lives of the ship's entire crew.

Mercer saluted. "Navigator Mercer, reporting for-"

"Oh spare it you cunt," Cawthorne said, walking up to the men from his pilot's seat. "You screwed us over!"

Mercer stared at him. "Wh…what?"

"You brought us out here to-"

"Ensign, take your seat," Watson said.

"…die. You think you can-"

"Ensign!" Watson yelled. "Seat!"

Cawthorne spat at Mercer, but nonetheless obeyed. Watson wanted to follow him and slam his head against the glass of the ship's viewscreen. But it would do no good. Cawthorne's actions were out of place, but he was only saying what everyone else was thinking.

_Myself included._

"Howard, what is this?" Mercer asked, his eyes filled with worry. "I know we weren't meant to arrive at Agria for another six hours but-"

"We're not _at _Agria, Karl."

And the worry increased. "Wh…what?"

"Look out the viewscreen Karl," Howard sighed. "Tell me what you see."

Mercer stepped forward towards the viewscreen. He didn't tell Watson what he saw, but that wasn't the point. What _was _the point was that there was only the darkness of space. No Agria. No other celestial bodies. Nothing.

"We've checked all the space around us," Watson said. "Wherever we are, we're not in the Agria system."

"Then…where are we?"

"As the ship's navigator, I was hoping you could tell me."

A bead of sweat trickled down Mercer's forehead. Watson tried to keep his gaze impassive. Most of him wanted to give Mercer the benefit of the doubt. He respected, even liked the man. But there was a part of him that wanted to strangle the bastard for potentially dooming the _Athena _to drift in space unable to return to anything resembling home. And even as Mercer hobbled over to his navigation station, that part was becoming more and more bloodthirsty.

"Okay, let's see…" Mercer began. "I'll trace the input of coordinates and-"

"Oh face it, the guy's panbrained," Cawthorne called out.

"That's enough Cawthorne," came a voice, not from Watson. "Maybe it's software. Maybe it's the warp drive."

"I appreciate the suggestions Miss Bobenthal," Watson said, looking at the frigate's co-pilot. But let's not speculate until we have all the facts."

"Facts…" he heard Mercer whisper. "Facts…facts…"

"Give me facts, Lieutenant," Watson said. "Like the fact that you can fix this."

"Facts…facts…oh God…oh my God…"

"Mercer?"

"Could it…no. Maybe…maybe…"

"Karl!" Watson yelled, spinning Mercer around in his chair. "What's happened?! Where are we?!"

"We're…not at Agria."

Watson fought the urge not to strangle him. "Of course we're not at Agria you pan-brain. If we were at Agria we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"I…have an idea where we are," Mercer whispered. "But that's not the point."

"Then what _is_?"

"That someone's sabotaged the system."

Watson felt a chill down his spine. And he felt it in the entire bridge crew as well.

"Look here," Watson said, showing Mercer to lines of code, the figures corresponding to the three dimensions of space. "The top code is the algorithm I programmed to take us to Agria five days ago." He ran his finger across it. "Horizontal to the galactic plane, a trip of one-hundred and twenty-four light years."

"And the other?"

"The other code takes us vertically up through the galactic plane," Mercer said, tracing his finger along the second code, but conspicuously missing numbers in its sequence. To an unknown location, at a distance of one-hundred and ten light years." He looked up at the captain. "That's why we emerged from warp space early. It was a shorter trip. Somehow the ship's orientation was altered as well."

"Can that be done? Wouldn't the engine room have noticed something?"

"Night shift, Sir. And the ship's orientation can be controlled from the bridge, for both manual and automated piloting."

"So what does this mean?" Watson asked. "Why are there two systems?"

"The second code is an override of the first," Mercer explained. "It was meant to be defragged, but the terminal's security was able to log the intrusion and preserve some of it, but not all, hence the missing numbers." He slowly got to his feet, his eyes not filled with worry, but conviction. "I don't know why we're here Watson. I don't know if I can get us back on course since so much of the code is missing. But I do know how."

"And that is?" Watson whispered.

"Sabotage, Captain. Someone brought us here. Someone uploaded a new system. And we're where that person wanted us to be."

Watson looked around the bridge. Everyone was on their feet. Everyone was potentially…potentially…

"A traitor, Captain," Mercer said. "We have a traitor in our midst."

* * *

_A/N_

_The mess scene wasn't in the original draft, but I ended up writing it for two reasons - firstly, felt this chapter needed to be longer. Secondly, it allowed me more time to flesh out the River/Lambert dynamic and also introduce Woods earlier than before. Also, in the original version there was no ambiguity as to who the traitor was. Like Kerrigan, ended up changing portrayals a lot when it came to actually writing the story._


	6. Nowhere's Middle

.

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 5: Nowhere's Middle**

With the arrival of the relevant personnel on the bridge at the start of the briefing, Watson had told them to be at ease. Now, as Mercer finished his briefing, he could see how few of the men and women before him actually _were _at ease. True, they stood a little less straight, but they weren't relaxed. He could see it in their eyes. The fear that they'd experienced a warp space SNAFU and they'd pay for it with their lives. And the anger that suggested that some of them might want to kill the navigator first.

"And that's that," Mercer said, finishing telling those assembled what he had told Watson half an hour ago. "Based on the data available to me, I can only conclude that sabotage occurred."

"Or that you fekked up," came the voice of Lieutenant Sadie, the ship's armoury officer. "You ever consider that gramps?"

"That has been considered," said Watson, stepping forward. "And if I want a gun master's opinion on the principles of warp space navigation, I'll ask for it."

"Then why am I here?" Sadie asked, gesturing around. "Why are any of us here?"

Watson glanced at Turner, standing on his right side as surely as Mercer was standing on his left. Why indeed, he wondered. "Courtesy" was the answer, but based on the implications of what Mercer had told him, and Sadie's reaction for that matter, courtesy had just gone out the airlock.

"You're here because I say so," Watson answered. And because given the current situation, I feel it's best you all know what we plan to do. And it will be up to you to convey this information to the crew to prevent the rumour mill from starting up.

Sadie didn't look convinced. Very few of the officers did.

"I admit it," Mercer said, hobbling forward. "It's possible that a glitch occurred. Or I made a mistake. And with the code the way it is and the lack of any points of reference, we may never get back to Dominion space."

Some of those assembled, Sadie included, began to speak. Others, such as Henderson, kept quiet. Watson held up his hand.

"So it'll work like this. Our techs will attempt to patch in the missing pieces of the code. Meanwhile, I'll be taking note of star patterns and comparing them to our star charts. If we can find out where we are, or at least find a point of reference, then I can hopefully get us back on course."

"And if not?" Henderson asked, asking the question everyone had on their mind.

"Then we're flicked."

Watson couldn't help but smile for a moment at Mercer's use of the word, as if at his age such profanity was below him. But a moment later it faded. Maybe they _were _trapped here. Maybe Mercer _had _stuffed up, or maybe they didhave a traitor onboard. None of the possibilities were appealing.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Mercer," the captain said, stepping forward. "Now, to the rest of you…I have to entertain the notion that somewhere on this ship, there's a traitor onboard. Given that the bridge was unguarded at the time, it could have been anyone. And I have to ask, why? Did they want us dead? Are we here for a reason? His gaze lingered on those assembled – a fraction of the ship's crew, but all potentially guilty. "Is there someone here could answer that?"

No-one said a word.

"I didn't think so. But I have to extend my trust somewhere, so I'm turning this briefing over to Lieutenant Woods."

From the assembled crew, Woods stepped forward, her posture anything but relaxed, her gaze anything but dull. Over the last two years, the pair had barely interacted – part of an unspoken agreement that they'd both do their jobs and stay out of each other's way. But she was still part of his crew. His family. And Watson just hoped that his faith would be rewarded.

"The captain and I have discussed our new arrangements, but here's the shout-out for you people. I have thirty marines. Typical of this frigate's skeleton crew, but enough to ensure that the bridge is kept guarded, as well as other sensitive areas of the ship. These areas are as follows…"

Watson found himself as Woods listed them – armoury, engine room, stores…areas that would mean her platoon was spread thin, but with the lack of any real combat over the last two cycles, that was par for the course anyway.

"Geer, my boys will help you with the MRE stock. If we're going to be here for awhile, we'll want the food to make that possible. Campden, you-"

And as he drifted away as Woods continued talking, Watson's gaze turned to Henderson. His eyes lingered on the man. But Henderson wasn't looking at him. He was-

"And that's all. Any questions?"

None of those assembled answered.

"Good." Woods turned to the captain. "Anything else Sir?"

"No," Watson murmured. "Nothing."

"Good," Woods said, looking out over the COs. "Dismissed."

The men and women began to file out. Woods didn't outrank them, and being a marine, she was technically at the mercy of fleet officers. But given the nature of the situation, Watson had given her near-carte blanche authority.

_And if she's the traitor?_

Watson cast the thought aside. If she was, the crew were as good as dead. She had the jarheads, half of them resocs and thus willing to blindly follow orders. Plus she had access to the weapons as well.

_And who had access to the bridge?_

Everyone, he thought. Even Henderson. He looked at him again as he walked out, the man glancing back at the bridge. Or more specifically Turner as he injected another lot of nano-probes into his neck.

_Go on, _Watson thought, watching the medic linger in the doorway. _Piss off._

And Henderson did so. Slower than he cared for, but he still obeyed.

_Good._

The captain turned round to the bridge. The crew were at their posts, and had stayed at them throughout the entire briefing. But they'd heard everything, he knew. He also knew that they'd keep working. Already ensigns Stein and Wailer were at the navigation terminal looking for the missing data, while Mercer was cooperating with Lieutenant, Junior Grade Botfei at the starmap, laying out a physical copy of the observed constellations around them. At this point in time, neither task seemed to be close to completion.

And it might never be. This might have been a rebel stunt, and ticks from now this ship would be blown to kingdom come or hijacked. It was why he activated his personal comm unit.

"Lambert you there?"

"Here captain," came the girl's voice at the other end. "You briefed the bigwigs yet."

Watson couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm one of those 'bigwigs' too you know."

"Duly noted Sir."

Watson frowned – a lot had been 'noted' indeed. He'd broken protocol by informing Parker of the scenario before the senior officers. But…

_But nothing. Fekk, she's only nineteen._

So were other terrans. Terrans even younger than her had died in the last two wars. But Lambert was part of his family. And sometimes, the rules were bent for family. Because having lost his own in the Great War, family was all he had.

"Just keep my warp engine active Lambert," he said. "Can you do that?"

"Eh, I guess," she said. "I mean, this thing is only meant to be activated in warp space, but-"

"Lambert, we may need to get out of here very soon. So just tell me, can you do that?"

There was a pause. Then, "sure Cap. I'm on it."

"Good," Watson smiled. "Watson out."

And the link was terminated. Lambert, at least, he could count on. Even in the few seconds that had passed, Mercer nor anyone else on the bridge had come close to solving the problem.

"Got a moment sir?"

It was Turner's voice. And Watson turned to look at him.

"Commander," he said. "You holding up?"

"What, that I'm stuck in the arse end of the universe with no chance of getting back? Yeah, I'm fine."

_Evidently. Your tongue's still as acidic as ever._

"I mean, for all I know-"

"Zip it Turner."

The commander stopped short, his eyes filled with surprise.

"Turner, you're my XO. I let you get away with murder before, but I can't afford that now."

Turner snorted. "Bit melodramatic Captain. Don't you-"

"Turner, you're an officer in the Dominion Fleet. You're my second-in-command. So for now, I expect you to act like that."

"Fine," Turner said. "I'll do that."

_You damn well better._

Watson walked over to the viewscreen and leant on a control panel, staring out into space. Stars, stars, and more stars stared back at him. In his mind he formed a pattern out of some of them. Before long, a ragnasaur had taken shape.

"Nice view eh?"

Watson glanced at Turner who had come to join him.

"I mean, we sail between stars. But we never take the time out to just…enjoy them, y'know?"

Watson snorted. "When did you get so poetic?"

"Since I had to face my own mortality." He chuckled. "I'm kinda new to it."

Watson sighed. He supposed this was the best he could expect right now. And he had to admit, Turner's humour might do some good in the long term. Because right now, facing the stars, facing mortality, he couldn't find much reason to laugh.

"Sir, as XO…I'm entitled to certain privileges, right?"

"Yes…" Watson said slowly. "Why?"

"Well, I was wondering…I mean, with what's happened…"

Watson sighed. "Get it off your chest Commander."

"Fine," Turner said. He put a hand on Watson's shoulder and got him to face his counterpart. "I'd like to ask why we're beating about the bush."

"Pardon?"

"Henderson," he whispered, leaning close to his superior. "Why haven't you dealt with him?"

"Commander, you-"

"Fekk it Howard!" he hissed. "Two years of smooth sailing without Mercer stuffing up once. Then we pick up some medics and everything goes to hell."

Watson's gaze narrowed – not because he disagreed with Turner, but because he could see where he was coming from.

"Henderson made it clear how he feels about the Dominion," Turner said. "Men have killed for less."

"Do you think he's a killer?"

"I dunno," Turner said, shrugging. "But what about his girlfriends? One's been spending a lot of time with Lambert, hanging around the engine room. The other's barely left her quarters, doing God knows what. Plus, they had a year of being on Ballast which, let's face it, has little reason to love the Dominion. They could have been exposed to anti-Dominion sentiment."

"Everyone's exposed to anti-Dominion sentiment Turner."

"But they're not everyone," he pointed out. "Henderson and his team are newcomers. And only now, with them aboard, does something go wrong."

Watson sighed, turning around to face the stars again. He looked for his ragnasaur, but he couldn't find it. The stars just hung there, unconnected. Maybe it was the connections of the real world taking their place. And the black hole they led to.

"What do you want me to do?" he whispered. "Detain them? Incarcerate them without proof?"

"You're the captain, you have that right. Mengsk does it all the time."

"Fekk it Turner, I'm not Mengsk," Watson hissed. "This isn't the Dominion, this isn't Korhal, this is a small ship where word travels fast. I imprison Henderson and his friends without proof, what then? Where does it stop? When does the crew lose trust in me?"

"The longer we stay here, the more that trust evaporates anyway."

"Fine," Watson said. "God dammit Turner, fine." He activated his comm unit. "Lieutenant Woods, please respond."

"Here Captain," came her voice.

"Got any marines to spare?"

"Not really sir. I mean, we can alter the-"

"Assign two to Lieutenant Henderson. Tell me where he goes, what he does, who he talks with. Heck, have them keep an eye on his teammates as well."

"Sir, that's a lot of…may I ask why?"

"He's our prime suspect. That's all you need to know."

There was a moment of silence. Watson glanced round the bridge. No-one looked back. Did they know what he was doing, he wondered? Would they condone it? Hate him for it? Turn on him before he could do the same to them?

"Fine," Woods said eventually. She chuckled. "You want me to kill him or something if he steps out of line?"

"No," Watson said, reflecting on Turner's words, on Henderson's actions, and all the lives that could have been ruined if this was indeed sabotage, if he was indeed the traitor in their midst. "If it comes to that, I'll kill him myself."

* * *

The _Athena _was hit by a barrage of laser fire. Its pieces went hurtling outwards, glowing from the incredible heat. Within an instant, only silence remained. And an instant afterwards, it was broken by a voice.

"Using a battlecruiser on a frigate? Bit excessive isn't it?"

"You're the one who lost a ship Parker."

"True. Now watch what I do next."

And thus, a holographic destroyer made its way through the holographic debris of the holographic frigate that Parker had labelled _Athena_. It launched a broadside assault against River's battlecruiser, crippling it while simultaneously positioning it to provide a buffer against her Raider squadron and River's gunships.

"Fekk," River whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Lambert said, leaning back in her chair. "I've been playing this game for years." She pressed the deactivation button. "And I know when a game is over."

River protested, but Lambert ignored her and got to her feet. She'd played _Battlestar _for as long as she could remember – partly recreational in her deep-space life, partly educational, a way of encouraging her to think in three dimensions which was vital for moving around in the void. River had not only gone in straight for the kill, but had kept all her ships on the same horizontal plane, whereas she'd taken the time to move her own ships upward.

"Alright," she heard River say. "Another game."

"Can't," she said. "The captain wants the warp drive active for a jump, and that means taking care of it."

She walked down a staircase to the warp drive below – a cylindrical lump of lead that ran the entire breadth of the engine room.

"Looks…nice," she heard River say.

Lambert snorted. "It's lead. This sort of shielding was outdated a century ago."

"And the ship's that old?"

"No," the warp rat said, checking a reading on a terminal by the side. "But new stuff is expensive stuff. And the Dominion isn't going to be wasting its expenses on us anytime soon." She sighed. "Probably won't waste time searching for us either."

River remained silent. Lambert couldn't blame her but-"

"Oh fekk this!"

_Well never mind._

"What the hell is going on anyway?!" River exclaimed, pacing around the workstation and throwing her hands around as she did so. "I was supposed to be on Agria by now! Breathing real air! Eating real food!"

"Shit happens River."

"The fekk it does! When I find the screw-up who did this-"

"Mercer?"

"Whatever! We're in the middle of deep space, and from what I've heard, we could be stuck here for the rest of that lives because of that pan-brain!"

Lambert sighed, resting her hands on the terminal. River continued ranting. The warp core continued humming. Her mind kept churning between the options of toeing the line, or speaking her mind.

"I swear, when I find that hack I'll-"

"That's enough!"

Lambert decided on the second option, leaving the medic's mouth hanging open.

"Mercer's a good navigator," Lambert said. "He's served on ships longer than I've been alive. He's a good man, a good officer, and-"

"And he screwed up," River interrupted.

"We don't know that."

"Navigator!" River exclaimed, clicking her fingers in front of Lambert's face. "Navigation! The navigator is responsible for navigation, and shock of all shocks, he mis-navigated."

"River-"

"Look kid, I know you're the engineer here, and you can beat me at Battlestar, but I know enough to know when someone screwed up."

"But we don't _know _he screwed up!" Lambert exclaimed. "You've heard about the sabotage thing, right?"

"An excuse," River said, getting out a cigarette. "We all make them."

"Oh, right," Lambert snapped. "And how come we never had a mis-jump until you lot came aboard?"

The laser lighter never met its target. Lambert was partly relieved – the ship had limited oxygen, and burning a cancer stick wouldn't help. But mostly she was filled with other emotions – regret, guilt, trepidation…mainly the latter, given how River was looking at her.

"You think we did this?" the lieutenant whispered. "That we sabotaged the ship?"

"River, I didn't-"

"Is it me?" she asked, closing in on the ensign. "Henderson? Maybe Amanda?"

"River, don't-"

"Go on, say it!" she yelled, shoving the mechanic. "Is that why you're here, Lambert?! To spy on me?! Get the dirt on me?!"

"River, shut up!" Lambert yelled. "I work here, remember?! And I'm not insinuating anything!"

River glared at her. And given the way her nostrils moved, Lambert was briefly remembered of the star dragons of the digi-tomes she'd read as a child. The nasty ones.

"Look," Lambert said. "There's a first time for everything, right? Maybe Mercer screwed up. Maybe the fault is software based. Maybe we hit…I dunno, a gravity wave or something."

"A what?"

"Point is, I'm not here to point fingers," Lambert said. "I'm just…here to do my job, y'know?" She tried to smile. "I mean, maybe _I _screwed up. Maybe the warp drive glitched. Maybe…I mean…"

"Whatever," River said, lighting her cigarette and heading back up the stairs. Back to the upper landing, and the engine room's exit. "Just do your job Ensign."

Lambert watched her go. She wanted to run after her. Say sorry. Say that it was nice to have someone to hang out with in what was otherwise a lonely job. That they could have another game of _Battlestar_.

But she didn't. Lieutenant River Noble had given her an order.

And deep down, she couldn't help but wonder if Mercer was right. That sabotage _had _occurred.

And that River, or one of her teammates, was the person behind it.

* * *

Something was different.

Such a thought ran through Henderson's mind as he walked down the frigate's corridors. Up until now, it had been run by a skeleton crew, and the amount of people he'd seen walking about fitted that. But now the skeleton had grown some flesh. Techs went by him. Officers glanced at him. Crewmen bumped into him. And as he offered to help one get to their feet, the man swatted his hand away and kept walking. Without saying anything. Without meeting his gaze.

_Something's different._

The crew was on edge, he could sense that. But there was something else – suspicion. And as he came round to another corner and started walking down it, he could see how far it went. Techs looked up from their datapads. An officer tightened his uniform. A crewman shoved by him, cutting into his shoulder, sending him staggering.

_Jackass._

Henderson spun round, put off balance by the blow. At the far end of the corridor, where he'd come from, he could see two men just standing there. Both of them dressed in undersuits and jeans that would usually be worn underneath CMC armour. Both of them equipped with holstered pistols. Both of them likely marines.

"Can I help you Sir?"

Henderson looked around. A crewman, still with spots.

"Can I help you?" he repeated.

"Um, yeah," Henderson murmured, squeezing out of the way as a tech came past. "Just…looking for my crew quarters."

"Location?"

"Deck B, section four, room two-two-six."

"Just ahead Sir," the kid said. "Next on your right. Can't miss it."

"Right," Henderson said. "Thanks for-"

The kid started moving past him. Joining the flow of terrans that moved up and down the corridor, just like everywhere on the damn ship. All new faces. All going on their way.

_Except those marines._

The jarheads were still there. Still trying to look like they were minding their own business, only now clearly failing at it.

_Nah, can't be. It-_

"Is there a problem Sir?"

Henderson saw the source of the voice. An officer this time. A lieutenant like him, only with guts, and more importantly, a gun strapped to her side.

"Is there a problem?"

"No," Henderson murmured. "I'm…just on my way."

And he started moving. Only with great willpower did he stop himself from giving the girl the shoulder.

It was crazy, the medic thought. They were stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, and already the crew was turning on each other. Or turning on him at least. And in the middle of it, there was the object of his own suspicions.

_Am I really doing this?_

He made for a right and headed for his room. He kept walking. Kept avoiding eye contact from people who were already intent on doing the same.

_Really?_

He formed his hands into fists. He was. Even if it meant doing it to Amanda.

_Nearly there._

He approached the door. Before he could enter his keycard it opened by itself. And before him, sitting on the lower bunk, was his fellow medic.

"Henderson!" she exclaimed, glad to see him.

And he quickly headed inside, closing the door on the way in. No reason to draw any more attention from the frigate's crew, that a door had opened on its own accord.

"What's happening?" Amanda asked, her eyes wide, her palms sweaty. "It's…something's wrong, isn't it? It…some say we're trapped. Lost. We…we might not get back! Some suspect! Some…some…"

Henderson forced a smile. "You been talking to other people? That's good."

"I…" Amanda began to pace around as best she could in the narrow space, ringing her hands as she did so. "I…"

"It's true, kinda. Navigation blip, off course." The smile became harder to force. "Nothing to worry about!"

"No!" she yelled. "Don't lie! It…" She sat back down on the bunk. "No. No. It's all fine. All fine."

Henderson sighed. "Amanda-"

"Fine," she said. She forced her own smile. "I've got more digi-tomes on my datapad. I-"

"Amanda-"

"I mean, after all, Splinter of the Mind was-"

"Amanda, I want you to read Commander Turner's mind."

Amanda stopped talking. How _Splinter of the Mind _was would have to wait. Because the look in her eyes, the sweat on her brow…it was clear that digi-tomes were no longer occupying Amanda's thoughts.

"Read…his mind?" she whispered, forcing a chuckle. "Who do you think I am Henderson? Star-Woman?"

"No, I think you've got a real superpower. Telepathy."

"That's…" She began backing away, hitting the room's wall almost instantly. "That's-"

"For fekk's sake Amanda this is serious," Henderson sighed. "You want the truth? Fine. Sabotage is suspected, people suspect me, and I suspect Commander Turner. So I need you to teep the guy and find out-"

"No!"

Turner found himself being slammed against the door. To his relief, it didn't open. Because as painful as being sent against it with a telekinetic push was, seeing what would happen to his friend if people saw such an act would be even worse.

"I…" Amanda was standing there. She raised her shaking hands to her mouth. "I…" She put them on her forehead. "Oh God…oh my God…Henderson…"

"Amanda, I'm fine," he said. "Just-"

"Your back hurts." She sat down on the bunk, still trembling. "Oh God…the pain…" She looked up at him. "Henderson, I…I…"

"Oh for fekk's sake," he said, sitting down. "Amanda, I've known you were a teep for years."

His fellow medic stopped trembling. A bit.

"I…I thought…I tried not to read your mind but-"

"Yeah, and I'm grateful for that, but it doesn't take teeping to pick up on things," Henderson said. "Like you knew we were leaving Ballast before I told you. Like you knew I wanted to ask you to dinner a few hours ago before I told you what it was about. Like twice now you've opened this door without using your keycard." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You're a teek too I take it? Telekinesis? Frying people's brains?"

"Get off me," she hissed, her voice and…_thought_…laced with a venom Henderson had never heard from her before. "You don't…I…"

And then Amanda Haley did something that Henderson had never seen her do before.

She began to cry.

"You…you don't know…" she sobbed. "Oh…oh God Henderson you-"

"Amanda, I'm not a Wrangler, I'm not-"

"You don't…understand!" she yelled, grabbing Henderson's shoulders. "Every hour. Every day. Every waking moment thinking, this could be it. This could be the time when they find out. This is when I'm conscripted into the Ghost Program and…and…and…" She began to hyperventilate. "I hear things Henderson. I see things in people's minds. The…the stuff they do…"

"Amanda…"

"I…I can't do it," she whispered. "I've…I've always tried to keep my thoughts to myself. Respect the privacy of others." She met Henderson's eyes, her blue with his brown, her tears with his clarity. "I can't read an officer's mind. If…if they sense me…if they find me…I…"

_Christ, the girl's terrified._

"You're fekking right I'm terrified!" she yelled. "I…I want off, okay? I want off this ship! I don't want to read all this…this…this hatred!" She gestured to the door. "The people outside Henderson! I hear them! All the time! And their thoughts…so ugly…"

"Then why become a medic?" Henderson asked, mentally kicking himself for never asking before. "That would put you close to people. Close to the Dominion. Close to-"

"I didn't ask to work for the Dominion, they conscripted me from the Cyrene space platform!" Amanda snapped, getting to her feet and running her hands through her hair. "I wanted nothing to do with them!"

"But you were a medic beforehand, right? Like River?"

Amanda sighed. And Henderson could feel…something. As if he was a teep himself.

_You're not. Your PI's nearly zero._

He frowned. Probably true, but wasn't Amanda trying not to read his mind?

"Medicine…" Amanda said, facing her fellow officer and ringing her hands. "Humans…people need it, Henderson. Not just the medicine, but…well…"

"Care?"

"Love," she said. "We're all human. All terran. And…I hear things, Henderson. Feel things. I…knew I had to help people. To be there. Just…we're alone, Henderson. All in our own minds. Or we were. Maybe we were meant to be and evolution played a cruel joke on us." She let out a chuckle that sounded more like a sob in the making. "I…I can't," she said. "I…I…I just _can't_."

And Henderson understood. Understood as best as he knew how. Because despite being on Ballast for the past year, he'd heard things. Seen Mengsk's PR bullshit about the Ghost Program. And if what he'd heard was true, the thought of Amanda becoming one of _them_…

"You're right," Henderson said. "Absolutely."

He sat down on the bed, holding out his own hands. How close was he to getting blood on them, he wondered? His friend's blood?

"You…you won't tell?" Amanda asked, standing nervously in front of him.

"No." He looked up at her, noticing that she didn't seem convinced. "Read my mind if you want. You'll see the truth there."

"I…" Amanda trailed off. But then…then…

And she stopped talking. Just for a moment. But then…then…

"Thank you," she said, hugging him. "Thank you so much…"

"Um…sure," Henderson said, unsure whether to let the hug continue or not. "I…I guess-

"No," she whispered, hugging him tighter. "Just…being someone I could trust. I…it means…"

Henderson blinked. It was as if his brain had suddenly become more active than before. A trick of his friend's? Or more likely a reminder that he had a female hugging him, being friends with him, that said female wasn't too bad looking, that he'd noticed that a year ago, and since they were alone in the cabin they might as well-

_The hell?_

Henderson blinked again. Maybe it was the 'brain' in the lower half of his body. And-"

"Don't worry," Amanda said, still hugging him. "I've read worse."

Remembering the Brood War and much else, Henderson didn't doubt that. And that reminded him of Commander Turner. The person he had to know, one way or another, as to whether he fell into that category of "worse." And what it could mean for the crew if it did.

"Amanda-"

"No," she said, getting to her feet. "I-"

"Amanda, I'm not asking you to read anyone's mind," Henderson said, putting a hand out to stop her doing anything stupid. "But…you trust me, right?"

The girl nodded.

"Good," he said, getting to his feet and heading for his duffel bag. "Because I need answers, and since we're out of range of the hypernet, we'll have to go through our digi-tomes." He took out his datapad. "The non-fiction ones."

"Um…" Amanda trailed off. "I mean…sure, I can help you research if that's what you want. I mean, the ship has archives but-"  
"That's what we're doing," Henderson said, hooking his datapad into the room's network outlet, giving him access to all the ship's non-classified data. "Medical research." He sat on the bed and gestured towards the bottom of the bag pile. "Your datapad's in there I believe."

"Yeah…I mean, we can use the same network," Amanda said, heading to get her own pad. "But why? What for? What are you looking for?"

"Info," Henderson said. "Info on cancer and nano-probes."

* * *

The traitor was concerned.

Watson was moving too quickly. The traitor had expected Mercer to take the fall for the coordinate alteration, not find traces of it. Apparently "defragging" meant "leave a trail of breadcrumbs that the birds of the Dominion Fleet could put back together into a fekking loaf." And with that loaf nearing completion, there was a chance the ship could re-enter warp space before birds of a different kind arrived.

The traitor watched the holo-terminal flicker, signalling an incoming message. The mother hen had received the message that had been sent. And now, the mother hen was answering back. In the flesh, or at least, in a three-dimensional representation of the being of flesh and blood that was his superior. For a moment, he met her gaze. A moment later, he found himself having to evade it.

"Is there a problem?" the contact asked.

The traitor paused. Could she sense his fear, even while travelling through warp space? Should he _be _afraid? Would such fear make him unworthy?

"Well?"

"We're at the coordinates," the traitor said. "But techs are at work on getting us back to Agria."

"And does the captain suspect you?"

"No. I may have been able to sway his suspicions. But-"

"But nothing. My forces will be at the coordinates soon, but keep the ship where it is. Do whatever it takes." His superior smiled. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"I-"

"_Will it_?"

"No," the traitor whispered. "I'll…keep the ship here. I'll…do my duty." He stood up, ready to terminate the connection – not out of any disloyalty, but because the longer he transmitted, the greater the chances of it being detected. "I'll do the job."

"Good," his contact said. "I look forward to meeting you in person…"

The traitor forced a smile.

"…Commander Lomax Turner."

* * *

_A/N_

_This chapter went through some revisions in the last part, namely the question of whether Turner would be revealed then or later. Heck, I'd originally intended on him being revealed as early as chapter 3. Still, in the end, I decided this was the best middle-ground, especially since calling him "the traitor" in future sections would probably get old very quickly._


	7. Vacuum

.

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 6: Vacuum**

According to Turner's timepiece, it was 19:18

Give or take a few minutes, that was the same as the _Athena_'s standard ship time. Having taken leave for dinner at 19:00 hours, Turner had until 19:30 to get back to the bridge. Which meant that unless he wanted Watson coming after him, he had twelve ticks to do whatever it was he was going to do. If anything.

Giving himself another injection, Turner longed for when his true people would show up. When he would no longer need to keep up this deception. But they might turn up at any time, whereas he only had twelve…no, eleven, ticks to do whatever it was he was going to do. Because the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize he couldn't just wait. Sooner or later, Mercer or the techs would either find the data he'd defragged, or find a point of reference to get to Agria. If either of those goals were reached, the frigate could warp out almost instantly, as long as its warp drive remained operational. His kin would arrive and find nothing. He'd be left to continue this charade. To kowtow to Watson and the Dominion. To pretend he was human.

_Not bloody likely._

So he picked up his datapad and linked it into the ship's network. For most crewmembers, even officers, this would grant them access to the ship's archives and little else. But as a commander, he was entitled to certain other privileges. So as he entered his command code, he found himself with some of the ship's functions under his control.

_Hopefully the defragging works this time._

If it did, no-one would know that he'd accessed the command program, or at least, would be unable to pinpoint who had done so. At worst, a pair of marines would come bursting through the door right now, drag him off to Watson and force him to continue kowtowing to the slike. And somewhere in the middle was a set of functions he could use. Intercom, alarms, fire suppression…nothing overly lethal. Except…

_Except the fire suppression._

The _Athena _had its own fire suppression system. Suppressant could be sprayed from the ceiling at designated points. But in the event of extreme fire or boarding action, a venting procedure could be used, where all hatches in a given area would open, leading to airlocks on the hull of the ship that would vent the air into outer space, along with anything not buckled down. From here, he only had limited control, and his people wanted as many of the terrans alive as possible. But carrying out the act would waste time, especially if the hatches on the ship's hull were opened. Flying in warp space was hazardous enough, but with airlocks open to warp space's radiation, it was tantamount to suicide.

Turner looked at his timepiece. 19:20. Ten minutes to use a combination of his codes, hacking, and dumb luck to pull this off.

Rolling up his sleeves, revealing his pale, oh-so-perfect and artificial skin, the commander proceeded to do so.

* * *

"Oh."

Lieutenant River Noble just stood there. And Petty Officer Third Class Lambert Parker did likewise. Just stood there in the corridor. The warp drive room behind her, the mess hall in front of her, airlocks to her starboard side, a cross-corridor to the ship's port side to her left.

"Hello Petty Officer."

Cutting to the port didn't seem like such a bad idea. It would waste time, but it would save her from being wasted herself.

"Lieutenant."

Or maybe she should just head back. She was meant to be in her engine room though – the secondary one, the one reserved for the warp drive. Or maybe she could go to the primary one where the majority of the _Athena_'s engineers were. Challenge Chief Petty Officer Norfolk to a game of _Battlestar_. Certainly he was much better at it than River was, and-

"Oh for goodness sake would you stop staring at me like a fringe-squib?!"

…but he wasn't as direct as Lieutenant Noble was either.

"Seriously," River said, walking up to Lambert and thumping her on the shoulder. "You lost your balls or something?"

"I…don't have balls."

"The hell you don't." River leant against the wall by one of the airlocks before taking out a cigarette and laser lighter. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you lost a lot more also."

"Um, well…"

"I mean, you're what, only one rank below me?"

"Two. And technically Captain Watson gave me a…well, the point is-"

"Oh, so you're not a real officer. Makes sense. I mean, you've still got spots and-"

"For goodness sake do you have to smoke?!"

The laser lighter had nearly reached its target when the words came out of Lambert's mouth. And thanks to them, River stopped in her tracks.

"Seriously!" she exchanged. "We could be out here for goodness knows how long, and you're in an environment with a set amount of oxygen! You don't need to give the CO2 scrubbers any more work than they've already got And…"

Lambert trailed off. CO2 scrubbers. She was complaining about CO2 scrubbers, some of the most basic pieces of terran technology that had existed even before their ancestors were drop-kicked to the Koprulu sector. True, starships were oxygenated environments, and fires were a greater potential hazard than they were planetside but-

"Heh."

But nothing, Lambert thought. River was smirking. And right now, she took that as a good sign.

"So," River said, pocking both the laser lighter and cancer stick. "You finally grew a backbone."

"Not balls?"

"No, balls are the reproductive organs that Captain Watson possesses. Balls I'm gonna kick if we don't get to Agria soon." River began walking again, and as before, thumped Lambert on the shoulder. "But you're a member of the stronger sex, so you're off the hook."

"And that involves doubting you?" Lambert asked. It was a direct question, but River thrived on directness, so she figured she might as well go for it. "When you had that hissy fit in the engine room? When I…well…"

River shrugged. "We're on a ship with a traitor onboard. We're all suspects."

_Are we? I mean, you guys _did _come aboard recently and-_

"Besides, shouldn't you be there yourself?"

Lambert shrugged guiltily. "The warp drive can do fine without me. Long enough to get a bite to eat at least."

"And there's stuff worth eating?"

Lambert let out a smile. "No. I guess not."

Silence fell between the two women. Silence unbroken by the hum of the ship's engines. Silence that was, eventually, broken by laughter. Of the bond they'd shared over the last few days. A bond that was back, as strong as ever.

"Space madness," Lambert exclaimed, leaning against a wall and putting her palm across her face. "It's space madness I tell you."

"And that's why you suspected me?"

Lambert's smile faded a bit.

"Relax kid, I'm over it. I mean, knives at each other's throats? In this rustbucket it's no wonder," River laughed, leaning against the adjacent wall. "Piece of junk like this probably sabotaged itself."

"Hey, the Athena's a fine ship. She won't like you talking about it like that?"

"Then who's gonna stop me?"

"Me," Lambert exclaimed, shoving her friend playfully. "All for one, one for all."

"Right."

"I'm serious," she lied, gesturing to the airlocks. "What do you think these are for?"

River opened her mouth, closed it, then started clicking her fingers. Maybe she wanted a cigarette, Lambert thought.

"Y'know, I was wondering the same thing," River said, walking over to one of the hatches. "All these airlocks here. It seems a bit…excessive, doesn't it?"

"Eh, not when this ship was built," Lambert said.

"When was that?"

"Over half a century ago." Lambert walked over and tapped on one of the doors. "It's part of an emergency system. In the event of fire, the air will be flushed out to one of the airlock sections, all other hatches sealed."

"That's a bit…primitive, isn't it?"

"Course it is," Lambert said. "I mean, we got _some _of the benefits of twenty-sixth century technology. ATA lasers, a gravity accelerator, warp drive-"

"All those are pre-twenty-sixth century. Heck, the gravity accelerator is pre-twenty-_fourth_ century."

"Alright, bad example," Lambert said. "Point is, it's systemic of old design. Still works though. Not that we've ever had to use it."

"Right," River said, clearly uneasy. "And if a fire does occur? What happens to the crew?"

"Well, they get some warning. An alarm, intercom…" Lambert trailed off as a beeping sound echoed down the hallway. A loud beeping. One accompanied by flashing red lights. "Kinda like that one?"

"Huh," River said, walking uneasily. "What do you think it's for?"

Lambert shrugged. "I dunno. The captain will probably say something before…before…"

_Before I hear the sound of closing hatches._

Lambert looked to the aft. Hatches were closing.

_Oh no._

Lambert looked to the stern. Hatches were closing.

_Oh God._

Lambert looked to the portside corridor. Its hatch hadn't closed. Yet. But-

"Move!"

Lambert started running. She knew what was about to happen. Knew what she had to do. But in that moment, she realized that River didn't. Or if she did, she wasn't acting on it. Because as she glanced behind her, she saw River Noble just standing there in confusion.

"River, you have to-"

And saw her be swept away into the vacuum of space as the airlock behind her opened.

* * *

"Pardon me if this is presumptuous Sir, but couldn't we just drop a distress beacon?"

"No. We have no idea how long it might take for the Dominion to detect it, and if we were brought here for a reason, it might help our enemy get to us faster."

"But Sir-"

"Not yet, Mister Mercer. Not while there's still hope of us finding our own way out of this mess. And before you say anything else, you're going to tell me that there _is _still hope of that occurring. Isn't there?"

Watson sat in the chair once occupied by Ensign Cawthorne. Mercer stood above him. Watson knew that he should be standing as well, but his feet just hurt too much for that. And being seated had other advantages as well, such as the ability to collect his thoughts.

"Well, there is still hope," her heard Mercer say. "We've been unable to use starcharts to ascertain our location, but the data retrieval is going well. You'll have to get the details from the techs but-"

"Good," Watson murmured, detaching his attention from Mercer as soon as he heard the word "hope." "I'll get right to that." _At some point._

Watson kept himself seated though. Mercer was a good navigator, even if the data retrieval route was so far their best option. Competent, loyal…not the type of man to be a traitor.

_Traitors…_

More and more, as Watson thought about it, the more it made sense. This wasn't just a simple error. Mercer was too good a navigator for that, and if he wanted the _Athena _crew dead, he was doing a very good job of covering his tracks. Norfolk and his crew were good grease monkeys as well, and while they might have been able to alter the engines' bearing to send the frigate on a new course, that didn't explain the inserted navigation program. And Norfolk was a Dominion man through and through, with no connections to the old Confederacy like Mercer had. So if anything, he was even a less likely candidate.

_And you know who those candidates are, don't you? _his mind told him. _Face it._

Watson glanced at the viewscreen. He saw the darkness of space. As well as his own reflection. For a moment, he could swear he could see Henderson standing behind him.

"Sir, I-"

He walked by Cawthorne. Ensigns and lieutenants. Commissioned men, so eager to get ahead. Like Henderson no doubt. The little slike and his team, consorting with the scum of human society over the past year, plotting the downfall of his ship. He glanced back at the viewscreen as he moved – a perfect grave for the scum that he'd taken aboard.

"Woods, this is Watson," he said through his comm. link. "Status update."

"Status on what, Sir?"

"The medics. Henderson and his team. The people I wanted your marines to follow."

"Oh, right," Woods said, her momentary confusion rubbing the captain the wrong way. "Last report is that Henderson and Haley are in their quarters. Last report was that Lieutenant Noble was on C deck."

"Each deck is seventy-five metres long and twenty-five metres wide. Give me something more concrete."

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"Sir, I-"

"Not now Cawthorne I-"

"Sir, I need you _now_."

Scowling, Watson glanced at Cawthorne. And Mercer. And at the bridge crew hovering over one of the consoles.

"Cawthorne, you-"

"Sir," Mercer said, his tone belying his age. "We have an emergency decompression going on on C deck."

A chill ran down Watson's spine. It remained as he made his way over to the console, displaying a schematic of the ship. A series of red lights were on the port side, adjacent with C deck.

"There's no fire, we checked," Cawthorne said, looking nervously at the older men around him. "And the signal wasn't sent from here."

"Manual?"

"No sir, our techs traced an electronic packet sent from somewhere on the ship," Mercer said, gesturing to one of the techs – Kovalyov, or Korolev, the name escaped Watson's memory. "And-"

"Well, shut it down!"

"Sir, we're trying!" Cawthorne snapped, gesturing towards the bridge crew.

"Try harder! We're haemorrhaging air, and-"

"Sir, I know what vacuum does!" Cawthorne yelled. "But this…this is-"

"Sabotage," Watson said. Mercer opened his mouth but he beat him to it. "And you all know it."

"Sir, with respect-"

"No Karl, no respect, no sirs, no nothing," Watson snapped. He put his hand on Ensign Heiban's shoulder. "Any life signs?"

"Yes sir. Bio-scanners detect one terran, a-"

"Woods," Watson murmured. "It has to be." He began walking off. Then jogging. Then running. All the while ignoring the exclamations of the crew behind him. All the while talking into his comm. link.

"Woods, this is Watson. Get yourself and some men down to C deck, port side, section three. Be advised, we have a hull breach."

"I…Sir. Yes Sir."

"Sir, what do we-"

"Get those doors closed!" Watson yelled, turning around for a second to speak to Mercer. "Now!"

* * *

"River!"

Lambert's scream was lost in the rush of air being vented out into the cold of space. Her gaze was lost as she saw the medic be swept along with it, screaming and tumbling out into death's embrace. And as she turned away, as she wept and felt her tears be sucked out as well, as she closed her eyes and grasped a handle for dear life, she felt death reaching out for her as well. Wanting her. Desiring her.

_Gonna die gonna die gonna-_

Briefly, Lambert considered her prospects. Heading back to the port side was a death sentence as long as the airlocks remained open. Heading portside was her best option as-

"No!"

Lambert cried out in despair as a blast door began descending from the ceiling. It was an automatic safety mechanism, designed to contain fire, intruders, or in this case, a section of the ship that would soon be completely depressurized.

"No! Please!"

The door ignored her. It came down slowly, like a sadistic guillotine. She reached out in vain, only to bring her hand back to the handle that jutted out of the wall – like a backwards L, with that L having a protrusion from its top as well going into the wall. She wrapped her arms through it, along with using her hands to grip the iron. It would keep her alive, provided she could hold on. Long enough so that if she wasn't spaced, she might suffocate.

Lambert sobbed as the door reached the floor. Cried for River. For herself. For…everything. But not for the door, as it slowly began to rise.

"Lambert!"

She heard a sound on the other side. She saw its source – Captain Watson, accompanied by Lieutenant Woods and two other marines. Peaking their heads around from the T-junction from the portside corridor

"Captain!" she yelled. "Help!"

The door stopped falling – it was low enough so that she could make out her fellow crew, but not so high that it was a clear route forward. One of her rescuers must have been using a manual override.

"Lambert, are you alright?!" Watson yelled. "What-"

"River's dead!" she yelled. "I…I…oh God…oh God…"

"Lambert, just…hold on!" Watson yelled. "We'll…we'll get you."

_Doesn't he care about River?_

"Please…hurry!" Lambert cried. "I…can't…hold on…"

"Lieutenant Parker, this is Lieutenant Woods!" yelled the marine. "Listen up – someone's hacked the system. We're working on sealing the airlocks, but you might not have enough time."

Lambert felt her grip slipping, and did her best to tighten it. Even as her sweat lubricated the handle. "Please…hurry…" she rasped, struggling to breathe as well as hold on. "Can't…hold on…"

"Listen!" Woods yelled. "I'm coming. The captain's here. We'll get you out."

Lambert closed her eyes and nodded. Watson. He was always there for here. Always checked up on her. He'd even left the bridge for her – supposedly Commander Turner had taken his place.

"Alright!" she heard Woods yell. She saw the marine uncoiling a safety line, one of many mounted at the ship's many junctures for this kind of situation. "None of us have grav boots, and it'll take too long to get them. So we're doing this the old fashioned way."

_There's an old fashioned way?_

Woods tossed the line out. It flew down the corridor, stopping just ahead of her. Hovering in the air, blowing in the breeze. Beckoning her. Taunting her.

"We can't move from here, or we'll be sucked out too!" Woods yelled. "So I need you to grab on, and grab on tight. Then we'll pull you to safety! Got it?!"

"I…I can't…"

"Lambert," she heard Watson call, his voice cracking. "It'll be fine…okay? You can do this."

"I…I don't…"

"You have to!" he yelled. "I'm not losing a member of my crew to sabotage, and it sure as hell isn't going to be you!"

_Didn't he lose River? _

"Lambert, you need to do this!" Woods yelled. "Now!"

"I…" Lambert took a breath. "Okay. I…I'll do this."

"That's my girl," Watson called out. Lambert looked forward and smiled at him. Smiled as she looped her left arm around the rung, and reached out with her right for the line.

"Nearly there," she heard Woods say. "You're doing great Lieutenant. Great."

"Yeah…" Lambert said, gritting her teeth as the air rushed by her. "Great…"

She stretched out. Slowly, surely, desperately…nearly there…almost…so close…"

"Got it!" the warp rat yelled, grabbing the line with her hand. "I've got it!"

"Good!" she heard Woods yell. "Now, make sure your grip's good, okay? I can pull you, but you need both hands before I do. Understood?"

"Yeah," Lambert said, glancing back at the open airlock behind her and immediately regretting it. "Sure."

"Okay. On my mark. One…"

_This is it._

"Two…"

_Gonna live!_

"Three!"

Lambert loosed her left arm. Her hand reached out. It reached for the line…

_Yes!_

And she lost her grip with her right.

"No!"

Someone shouted. It could have been anyone. Even her. As she was sucked down the corridor, Lambert' mind was spinning too much to know. But deep down, her instinct remained. Enough to make one final grasp for survival.

"Help me!" she screamed. "Help!"

She flailed around, trying to grab the airlock door.

"Help me!"

And failed. Failed so that she was sucked out into space. Upside down. Rightside wrong. Just spinning…floating…losing her breath…losing her mind…

"Help me," she whispered, no sound coming from her lips. "Help me…"

She spun further. Into the dark. Into the cold. Into death.

_Help me…_

* * *

_A/N_

_One of the key scenes in the dream that inspired this (as detailed on my homepage) was an airlock scene that played out similarly. In a way, that was the main inspiration for the story, my mandate being "write a story that involves a scene where someone gets sucked out into space." Go figure._


	8. Truth and Traitors

.

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 7: Truth and Traitors**

"Status report!"

Some of the crew glared at Turner as he walked onto the bridge, Cawthorne and Mercer included. The commander ignored them as he gave himself a quick injection and kept walking over towards the terminal they were at. Cawthorne returned his gaze to its screen while Mercer met the commander's eyes.

"Didn't you hear me Karl?" Turner asked. "I wanted a status report."

"If you'd been on the bridge you wouldn't need to be updated," the navigator replied. "If you hadn't been-"

"Taking time out, as I'm entitled to. As you're entitled to as well."

"I haven't used it."

"Then that's your loss, not mine." Turner pushed past him and went to Cawthorne. "What's going on?"

"Fekk all sir."

"That's not an answer Ensign."

"Fine!" Cawthorne yelled, turning away from the console and facing the commander. "Some fekkwit's hacked our system, and we're haemorrhaging air on C deck."

"Then shut it down."

"For God's…that's what we've been trying to do!" Cawthorne yelled. "We-"

"And how's it going?"

"Listen to me Commander. Watson's not here to cover for you so-"

"Crewman Koralyov," Turner said, ignoring Cawthorne and putting his hand on Koralyov's shoulder as she looked up at him from an adjacent terminal. "What's our status?"

"Sir, I'm trying to override the code to close the airlocks," the tech said, returning her gaze to the terminal. "Now, if you'd let me do my job…"

Turner patted her on the shoulder in what he hoped looked like a friendly manner. "Well, keep at it Crewman. You-"

"Done it!"

_What?_

"Airlocks closing!" Koralyov exclaimed. "Well, at least according to the terminal anyway."

"We'll check with Watson and the marines," Cawthorne said. "Mercer?"

"I'll route it through."

Turner kept silent for a moment. Already his stunt had been fixed. He hadn't counted on much, but seeing his attempt being fixed right before him, it was-

_Nothing. We're still here. All we have to do now is…well, wait, and-_

The commander blinked, finding himself caught offguard by the revelation, and his mind slow on the uptake. "Should I contact the captain?" he asked Mercer as the navigator hobbled…no, _walked_, he noticed, as if the crisis was giving the man new life. "I mean, I'm the commander."

"Yes."

"Um, did you mean yes, as in, I'm the commander? Or I should contact the captain?"

"Yes."

"Navigator Mercer, you-"

"Watson, this is Mercer, come in, over," the navigator said into the terminal's radio. "We've managed to secure the airlocks. And…" He trailed off, as Koralyov showed him something on a datapad. "Apparently the central blast door is still open. Manual override. Please advise, over."

There was no answer, but a storm raged inside Turner's head. Watson had gone down to play hero? Well it would explain his absence at least.

"Watson, come in, over."

_With any luck he got sucked out. Ship without its captain, me in charge…that would be-_

"Bridge, this is Lieutenant Woods."

_Woods?_

So Woods was there too. And answering for the captain as well. Turner leant in closer to the console. He watched as Cawthorne and Koralyov did the same.

"Um, yes," Mercer said. "I'm trying to get in touch with Captain Watson. He…I mean, is he-"

"No, the captain's alive," Woods said. "Physically, he's fine."

"Physically? What about…" Mercer trailed off. "Um, yes. Our display shows that the airlock doors are closed, but the central blast door is still open. Can you confirm this, over?"

"Right on both counts Actual. Had to use a manual override for our attempted rescue.

_Attempted? _Turner wondered.

"Attempted?" Mercer asked.

"Affirmative," Woods replied, her voice laced with…not exactly sorrow, but some form of emotion the slike had yet to previously show, Turner reflected. "We had two casualties – Lieutenant River Noble…"

_Wasn't she one of the medics?_

"…and Petty Officer Lambert Parker."

_Oh._

"Say again on the second, Lieutenant?" Mercer asked.

"Officer Parker. She was spaced. I'm…sorry," Woods said.

"Parker," Cawthorne whispered, taking a nearby seat. "I mean, Lambert? She was there?"

Mercer sighed. "Tell the captain…we're sorry."

"Yeah. Sure," Woods said.

"Thank you. Bridge…bridge out."

Turner began walking over to the starmap in the centre of the bridge, trying to walk slowly, to hide the spring in his step. River Noble…that was arguably a loss, because the death of one of the potential traitors to pin this on might make his job slightly harder. But Lambert…

_Excellent._

Turner lowered his gaze to hide his smile. The ship's warp rat, gone. Her grease and stench free from his sight. With Lambert dead, some of the engine crew would have to be re-assigned. Have to familiarize themselves with the warp drive. They weren't complete panbrains, but it would take long enough to have to shut the thing down lest it overload. That would give him a few hours at least.

"So, Commander," he heard a voice behind him say, one he recognised as Cawthorne's. "Any orders, _Sir_?"

Turner sighed, trying to keep up the charade. "We wait for the captain's orders. That's all we can do."

"Sir, Lambert just _died_. You know what the captain's like, we-"

"Do nothing," Turner said, turning around to face the ensign. "Like I said, we wait. Do nothing. Carry on. Is that clear?"

Cawthorne said nothing. Mercer remained at the terminal. Koralyov slowly walked away, Ensign Bobenthal remained in her co-pilot's seat, and Tactical Officer Puebla poked his terminal, as if waiting for enemies to show up that he could shoot at.

_Sooner than you think, _Turner thought, but he returned his gaze to Cawthorne, the ensign still silent. "I asked you, Ensign Cawthorne, are we clear?"

"Crystal," the man murmured. "Sir."

"Good."

Cawthorne walked away, and Turner looked out of the viewscreen into the darkness of space. Somewhere out there, two terrans had long since asphyxiated. Their bodies unrecoverable, which would be a shame when his allies arrived, but nonetheless, a boon in the here and now.

_Don't worry, _he thought, looking around the crew of the bridge, savouring their impending demise. _You'll have company in Hell soon._

* * *

"Come on Sir. Drink this."

Sitting down, Watson shoved Woods's flask aside. If it contained liquor, he had the authority to discipline her. If it contained water, he didn't. But captain or not, it was still his prerogative to shove the bloody thing aside with one hand while undoing his uniform's collar with the other.

"Sir…"

Watson ignored her and got the damn thing off. He felt strangled, like something, or someone, was grasping at his throat. Even the turtle-neck of the woollen underclothing felt tighter than it should. Warmer than it should, especially since the _Athena _was in deep space.

"Sir, I'm sorry about Lambert," Woods said. "But I-"

"Why?" Watson asked. "What's so special about her?"

"You tell me."

Watson glanced up at the marine. "You insinuating something Lieutenant?"

"No Sir, just repeating what I've picked up over the last two years. But I don't think it's insinuation to see that you're out of it-"

Watson scoffed and went back to leaning against the wall.

"That I had to contact the bridge for you. And that Officer Parker's death has hit you far worse than, say, Lieutenant Noble's."

Watson glanced up at her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Yes, Lambert's death had hit him much harder. Why wouldn't it, considering that Noble was almost certainly a traitor? A traitor who'd just died, either in an attempt of misguided sacrifice or by accident, or a traitor all the same. All that was left to do was ensure her cohorts got to face justice. _Dominion _justice.

_Lambert…why? Why you? _He slammed a fist against the wall he was leaning against. _Why'd you have to die?!_

Woods sighed and attached the flask to her belt. On the other side of her holstered pistol. A weapon that Watson wanted more and more to use. Against anything. Or any_one_.

_Fekk it._

The captain got to his feet and picked up his comm. link. "Bridge, this is Captain Watson, please respond, over."

Static filled the line as Woods watched on. "The bridge offers you condolences for Lambert by the way Sir. I-"

"Bridge, this Captain Watson, please-"

"Bridge to Watson, over."

"Turner?" the captain asked, recognising the voice.

"Yes Sir. Here to serve, Sir. And…apologies for the loss, Sir."

"Commander…thank you," he said. He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. "You did a good job."

Static filled the line, and Watson reconsidered his words. It was more fair to say that Turner had done the job that was expected of him. He'd been on break when he had left the bridge, but clearly he'd come back to help with the crisis, as any Dominion officer would. But loyalty had become a potentially rare thing over the past 27 hours. And Turner showing it to him in droves was much appreciated right now.

"Listen," Watson said eventually, starting to pace around in the corridor. "We need to know how this happened. Airlocks don't just open by themselves."

"No, they don't," Turner agreed. "I think we can both agree this is sabotage."

"Right," Watson said, ignoring Woods's glance. "And we both know who."

"Right Sir." There was a pause, then, "Huh. Just done a little digging."

"Talk to me Commander," Watson said, as his rate of pacing quickened. The grasp on his neck was gone, replaced by something else. A fire. A need for revenge. Justice. The need to ensure that his daughter's…no, _Lambert_'s, death, didn't go unanswered.

"Well, according to this, Lieutenants Henderson and Haley are in their quarters, using their datapads to access our archives."

"You know it's them?"

"Who else would be in there sir? And…well, under the assumption that this _is _sabotage, I think hacking our system through the archives would be a nice cover, wouldn't you? A backdoor system? Provided we don't see through it."

_Which we have, _Watson told himself. It all made sense. He'd barely seen any of Henderson over the last five days, and even less of Haley. Woods's last report had placed them both in their quarters. Out of sight. But not out of mind. And after all, hadn't data manipulation sent them off course in the first place? If Henderson and his cronies could get the airlocks to open, then it shouldn't have been that hard to hack the navigation systems as well.

"Sir?" he heard Turner ask.

Of course, Henderson was a medic, Watson reflected. But he'd had a year to pick up new skills on Ballast. Those could have easily included data manipulation and hacking.

"Alright," Watson said. "Turner, you have the bridge. I want you to drop a distress beacon. There's no telling how long it'll take to re-frag our data, let alone spin up the warp drive."

"Sir, if I may?" Turner asked. "We've just had sabotage committed. That might be the prelude to an attack. Wouldn't it be better to lay low for now?"

"Yes…yes, of course," Watson said. "Good call."

"Sir," Woods said. "With all due respect-"

"Anyway, Turner, the bridge is yours. You'll hear from me soon. Watson out."

The comm. link was switched off and Watson steeled himself. Lambert…Lambert would be remembered when the time was right. All he could do now was bring her killers to justice. He and Lieutenant Woods that was. Even as Woods was trying to catch his attention.

"Sir, I guard the ship's interior, not exterior," she said. "But refusing to drop a-"

"Marines," Watson said, turning away from Woods and to the two grunts she'd brought with her. Both male, both bald, and both bearing the milky eyes of resocs. "With me."

* * *

"Y'know, if it came to it…I think I could read Turner's mind."

Henderson looked up at her in surprise, and Amanda couldn't blame him. Indeed, by saying those words, she'd surprised herself.

"Um, that would be…er…"

"Yeah, you're surprised," Amanda said, jumping down from the top bunk of their quarters. "And I don't need you to read your mind to know that."

Henderson raised an eyebrow. "You…been reading my mind at all?"

"Oh, no," Amanda protested, telling the truth. "Just…I mean, your suspicions about Turner, if they're true…we may be a bit over our heads y'know."

"Yeah," Henderson said. "And if you teep him, if he's indeed a backstabber and you reveal it, what then? How would the Dominion reward you?"

"I…"

"The Ghost Program," Henderson said. "Even if Turner did send us here, if he's hiding something with those flimsy injections…the Dominion won't spare you from being one of those psychic freaks."

Amanda scoffed. "Freaks? That's nice of you."

"Read my mind," Henderson murmured. "You know I don't mean it like that."

Amanda didn't read his mind. But from the sound of his voice, she still believed him.

And yet…the thought of teeping the commander's thoughts remained in her own mind, even as she went back to lying on top of her bunk. Not the thought of becoming a Ghost, being copped up in here for the last few hours hadn't done _that _much damage to her mind. No, it was more the thought of just…using her powers. It was strange, but since revealing it to Henderson, it was like the weight of an entire galaxy had been lifted off her shoulders, including the black hole in its centre. At least with him, she didn't have to lie, or hide the truth. At least with him, she found herself able to talk normally. To use that primitive piece of animal anatomy called the mouth to communicate as easily as it was to send and receive thoughts, even if such a thing was off-limits. Well, to her friend at least. Friends plural if she included Jean. But Turner…

"Okay," Henderson said, shutting off his datapad and Amanda's, the one she'd left plugged in as she took a break, as Henderson's thoughts and actions went too fast for her. "I know what I have to do."

"I," Amanda noticed. Not "we." Maybe there was no "we." But there was still "her." Amanda Haley. Teep, teek, and probably the only one on this ship.

"I mean, if I could read Turner's mind…"

"No," Henderson said firmly as he began rummaging around his bag, pulling out a med-kit. "You don't need to."

"Then what _do _we need to do?" she asked. "We-"

"We inject him," Henderson said. "Get a nano-neuralyzer into his system."

"Henderson…" Amanda sighed. "This is extreme. If something goes wrong-"

"It won't, okay?" Henderson snapped. "I…" He sighed. "Look. We're stuck out here. The captain hates my guts, and I don't need to be a psychic to see that much of the crew thinks the same way. Turner's got the means to alter the ship's navigation."

"And stripping him of the façade will prove his guilt?" Amanda asked. "If there's anything to strip at all."

"We're still in deep space. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

Amanda sighed. A risk that "he" was willing to take. As for herself, she wasn't sure. It beat teeping, but-

There was a knock on the door. And a voice of "Open up!"

"Um, who is it?" she asked.

"This is Captain Watson. Open the door."

"I…" She glanced at Henderson. He glanced at her. "Close it," he hissed.

"What?"

"I need time!" he hissed again, rummaging in the kit. "Stall him!"

"I…"

"Get out of there now before we get in there by force!"

_Oh no._

"One…"

_No…_

"Amanda!" Henderson hissed. "Door! Now!"

Amanda screamed. The door panel sparked. And the voice on the other side cursed.

"Fekk! The door!"

"Um, Henderson?" she asked.

"Just a sec," he whispered, as he started extracting various fluids from various vials, mixing them in the same syringe. "I need to get this formula right."

"Bypass it!" Watson yelled."Now!"

"Henderson?" Amanda asked, bringing her shaking hands up to her face. "I…oh God…shit…shit…"

"Shut up!" he hissed.

Amanda began packing around, chewing on her nails. Not that there was much room to pace in the first plays, nor were her nails particularly long either. _I teeked, _she told herself. _Fried the door. Oh…oh no…_

Could she bluff her way out of it? How? They had no electronic tools bar their datapads. No way to explain the fried door control.

"Alright, done it!" Henderson said, pocking the syringe he had sent the mixture into. "Now all we need to do is get this in Turner and-"

The door opened. Captain Watson stood there. A look of malice in his eyes. And in his mind, as Amanda instinctively reached out…thoughts far worse.

"Captain, you-"

And the captain stepped back and in stormed two marines. Their minds fuzzy. Their instincts animalistic. Faced with the sight and mind, Amanda tried to scream. Instead she got a fist of knuckle to her mouth that sent her tumbling against the far wall.

"Amanda!" she heard Henderson cry. "You slikes, I'll-"

Amanda looked up from the corner as she saw the other marine knee him in the stomach before bringing his rifle down against his neck. She saw the marine that had struck her reach down. He saw, and felt him grab her by the hair and shove her against the wall.

"What the fekk?" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Why are you-"

The marine slammed her head against the wall. And both Amanda's sight and mind went fuzzy. She could feel her arms being grabbed and held behind her back. She could make out a vague outline of the same being done to Henderson.

"Enough," came a voice.

Amanda tried to focus. She could see Watson walk forward. She could see, and feel another marine standing behind him, her mind like a normal terran's. Her mind being the only one free from the bloodlust that consumed that of the other men.

"Lieutenant Amanda Haley, Lieutenant Fernando Henderson," Watson said. "You're both under arrest."

"For…what?" Henderson rasped.

"Sabotage, murder, sedition," he said. "For starters."

"That's…insane…" Amanda whispered. "I-"

Watson slapped her. Her face went to the right. So did a globule of blood. Henderson yelled something, but Amanda couldn't make it out.

"Insane?" Watson asked, leaning down to bring his face close to hers. "Miss Haley, you have no idea how insane things are going to get for you." He stood up straight again. "For both of you."

_Insane…_Amanda thought, trying to catch Henderson's eye, trying to stay conscious. _Insane…_

It was all insane.


	9. Face of Evil

.

**StarCraft: Downfall**

**Chapter 8: Face of Evil**

"Look Sir, I'm all for theatrics. But shouldn't we just throw these two in the brig?"

Watson heard Turner but ignored him. Instead he kept pacing around the officers' lounge, a little room on A deck that was the most luxurious part of the ship, and far removed from the brig in the bowels of D deck.

"Sir?"

The captain kept pacing. Despite what its namesake might imply, the lounge wasn't all inclusive. It was reserved for the captain, the XO, and any high ranking terran they might want to entertain. So while Woods had CO status, she was there by necessity, along with the two rescos she'd brought with her. And as for Henderson and Haley, currently sitting in those oh so luxurious chairs…well, by the time this was finished, they'd probably have no CO status to give them an excuse to be in here at all.

"Captain?" Turner asked again. "I don't want to interrupt, but-"

Watson held up a fist. Turner stopped talking. And in their chairs, Haley and Henderson looked up at him. Henderson met his gaze with defiance. Haley met it with specks of blood still on her mouth. Watson didn't know why, but he found it gratifying.

_Well, they've got blood on their hands. Figures that it gets to the rest of their bodies._

"Y'know Captain…" Henderson said eventually, rubbing his hands together. "Your commander might have a point."

Watson said nothing. He instead walked over to the bench below the cupboards where everything from coffee to klaava wine was stored. The bench where two datapads and a syringe were.

"I mean, you think we did something wrong? Then come out and say it. Put us in the brig."

Watson picked up the syringe – both of the medics had plenty of medical gear on them, but this was the one Henderson had been carrying at the time.

"Captain?"

And then he picked up one of the datapads. Both of them were shut off, courtesy of the rescos Woods had employed. The idiots hadn't considered that they might have inadvertently been erasing evidence. But his techs had almost fully decoded the program that had been uploaded into their navigation systems. He could trust them to scour these datapads too.

"Hello?" Henderson asked. "Korhal to Captain Watson, are you receiving?"

The captain sighed and put the pad down. Henderson wanted to get this over with? Fine. He'd indulge him. And he started off by turning to face the medic.

"Alright," Watson said slowly. "I'll start."

"Start what?" Henderson asked slowly.

"Our conversation," the captain began. "The brig…well, it hasn't been used for awhile. It's cold, the lights are on the fritz, and it's so very, _very_ unpleasant. I'd like to sort this out in more…civilized, settings." He smiled at Henderson. "Isn't that nice?"

The medic didn't answer. Maybe he knew that his fate was sealed, that he'd end up in the brig either way. That while Watson hadn't ordered their hounds bound, they were prisoners all the same. Still, for now, the captain could hope his plan would work. The lounge would get Henderson to relax. Slip up. And when that happened…

"You know…" Watson said, gesturing to Woods, currently standing by the lounge's door, trying to look impassive, "I told Lieutenant Woods that if you stepped out of line, I'd kill you myself." Both Henderson and Haley went to say something but he held up his hand. "But that's a bit extreme, don't you think? I-"

"Y'know what I think?" Henderson sneered. "I think you're a man who likes the sound of his own voice."

Watson's eyes flashed.

"Is this how you get your thrills, cappie? Hitting defenceless girls? Dragging me here like a criminal."

"I'm not defenceless," Watson heard Haley murmur. Along with a snigger from Turner. He cast a dirty look at the commander. He shrugged, and went to sit down on another of the lounge chairs.

"So why are we here?" Henderson asked. "You mentioned murder, sabotage, and sedition in our quarters when you came barging in. No idea where any of that came from. You gonna tell us?"

"I'm asking the questions here Lieutenant."

"Then ask them. Stop prancing around like a dancing bengalaas."

Watson flexed his fingers and straightened his collar. He'd since returned his dress uniform to his body, which was more than he could say for either of the medics. Henderson in his t-shirt, Haley in her vest…kind of like Lambert in a way…

_Lambert…_

Watson shook the thought aside. He heard Turner sigh. And he realized he'd given Henderson an opening.

"Let's get to it," the medic said. "You ask a question, I ask a question. We answer truthfully. No lies. No omissions. Deal?"

"You're not in a position to demand anything Lieutenant."

"I'm not demanding, I'm suggesting. Besides," Henderson said, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been pacing around for nearly ten ticks. Something tells me you like games."

"I don't," Watson said. "But fine. I'll play. As long as I go first."

"Fine," Henderson said, leaning back in his chair. "Go for it."

"Alright," Watson said. "How do you feel about the Dominion?"

Henderson snorted. "Didn't I make that clear when we met five days ago?"

"Indulge me."

"Fine," Henderson said. "I despise it."

Watson smirked. "Is that all?"

"No," Henderson said. "It isn't. I think Mengsk is a dictator in it for himself. I think it's disgusting that neural resocialization is still prevalent in its armed forces (Watson noticed Henderson glance at the marines stationed by Woods with this comment), not to mention the Ghost Program. I think that any good the Dominion might have brought us has been squandered. And I think men like you are far too willing to let the status quo continue."

"It's a status quo we need," Watson murmured.

"Like I said," Henderson murmured. "Too willing. Too able to turn a blind eye."

"Listen to me you-"

"Hey, I answered your question," Henderson said. "Now I get to ask one."

Watson flexed his right hand, reaching for a pistol, only to remember he didn't have one. Not that there weren't weapons in the room – Woods had a pistol holstered, and her marines each bore an assault rifle, currently slung over their backs.

"Captain?"

He loosened his grip. "Alright," he said. "Shoot."

"Fine," Henderson said. "Commander Turner – what's your service history with the Dominion Fleet?"

"Pardon?" Turner asked, looking up from his chair, meeting Henderson's gaze.

"What is this?" Watson asked. "I said-"

"You said one question each," Henderson interrupted. "We didn't agree who it would be directed to."

"That's…alright, fine," Watson said, conceding the point. He looked over at Turner. "Answer the question Commander."

"Ah, come on Howard," Turner said. "You know my history. You can…" He trailed off. "Fine. I'll play."

"Then play," Haley whispered.

Watson raised an eyebrow – Haley was the quiet one, that much was certain. But there was something in her eyes as she looked at Turner. A type of intensity he found unsettling.

"Let's see…well, I was originally with Alpha Squadron. After the defection to the Sons of Korhal, I-"

"Keep it simple," Henderson said. "Brood War. Zerg engagements."

Turner's gaze narrowed. "I thought you wanted-"

"Just answer the question Commander," Watson said. He wanted this part of Q&A over.

"Fine. I only saw the zerg at the end. Failed attack on Char Aleph_. _I was stationed on the Sirumulai, a Leviathan-class battlecruiser. Ship went down, escaped to Char."

"And yet you're here," Henderson pointed out.

"UED left some tech behind. I got out of the Char system, returned to Dominion Space, got assigned to the Athena." Turner stepped out of the chair. "Anything else?"

"Well, actually-"  
"No, there isn't," Watson said. "I vouch for Commander Turner's service record, I welcomed him onto the ship myself. And it's my turn anyway."

Henderson opened his mouth, but then closed it, apparently having enough sense to keep quiet. Watson watched as the medic looked at Haley. Watched as the two looked silently at each other.

_You want to play the game, Henderson? You have to learn it's by my rules._

"Here's my question," Watson said. "What were you doing in your quarters in the time prior to your apprehension?"

"Research," Henderson said. "Accessing the ship's archives."

"And is that all?" Watson asked. "No backdoor access? No secondary programs?"

"No," Henderson answered.

Watson walked over to him. "Are you sure?"

"He said no, alright?" said Haley, her voice noticeably defensive. "Do you think he's lying?"

Watson smiled. "Yes, I do. I think he's lying, that you're covering for him, and that Henderson is responsible for the shit that's plagued my ship since you came onboard."

"Or since your navigator stuffed up," Henderson murmured.

"Mercer didn't stuff up!" Watson yelled.

"Yeah?" Henderson sneered. "And what makes you think it's us?!"

"You've given me the proof I need."

"What, that I hate you? Hate the Dominion? Fine. I admit it. But newsflash you old geyser, lots of people do. That means squat."

Watson clenched a fist.

"And it's my turn for a question."

Slowly, the fist unclenched itself. "Fine," Watson said. "Your question."

Silently, the captain asked himself why he even bothered. He knew Henderson was guilty – chances were Haley was as well, but actually proving that was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. If he had a Ghost onboard he could have had them teeped and left the matter then and there, but the _Athena _had no such luxury. It might have been better to just throw them in the brig, and deal with them later.

"Commander Turner," Henderson said. "Why do you take regular injections to your neck?"

"What?" Turner asked.

"What" Watson asked. Glancing around, he saw Woods raise an eyebrow as well.

"The injections," Henderson repeated. "Why do you take them?"

"You know why I take them," Turner murmured.

"Indulge me."

"I have cancer you little shit," Turner snapped. "I thought you as a doctor would understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty," Henderson chuckled. He got to his feet. "I mean, granted, I'm a medic not a doctor, but I know my trade." He began moving towards the bench, where the datapads and syringe were stored. "And I know that while there are some nanite treatments to help cancer victims, there's not a single treatment that exists that requires such regular doses." He put his hands on the bench and glanced at the commander. "Now when you add some cock and bull story about surviving Char…well, that does get my suspicions up. And when you hear about the test subjects the Alliance created, about those shapeshifters called-"

"That's enough Lieutenant," Watson said, stepping forward. "I don't know what game you're playing at but-"

"Wake up you idiot!" Henderson yelled, turning back at the captain "Turner's the traitor! He's duped you with some yarn of heroics and surviving the zerg, and-"

"Lieutenant Woods, secure Lieutenant Henderson," Watson said.

"Sir?" she asked.

"Now."

Henderson glanced at Woods. After glancing at both Henderson and the captain, Woods walked forward. Henderson tried to say something but Woods grabbed him by the arm and slammed him on the bench.

"The hell are you-"

"Be quiet Sir." Woods took some handcuffs from her belt and wrapped them around Henderson's wrists. "Don't make this more unpleasant than it already is."

"You're making a mistake! I-"

"The only mistake I made was letting you aboard," Watson said. "That mistake cost the lives of Lambert Parker, River Noble, and potentially everyone else on this ship."

"Wh…what?" Henderson asked. He looked up at the captain with a look of false surprise in his eye. "R…River's dead?"

"Yes, she's dead. And so is Officer Parker. Thanks to your little stunt with the airlocks."

"The hell are you on about?!" Henderson yelled, struggling to move as Woods held him down. "What happened to River?!"

"Lieutenant Henderson, less than an hour ago, the airlocks on C deck opened through remote access. A command not sent from the bridge. This took the lives of River Noble and Lambert Parker."

"That's…we didn't…"

"Maybe you didn't mean to kill your comrade. Maybe you didn't care. But Lambert…I mean, Officer Parker…she…"

"You liked her," came a voice. "Didn't you?"

Henderson looked at Haley. Watson looked at Haley. Everyone else in the room looked at Haley.

"This ship's crew is your family," the girl whispered. "And Lambert was the equivalent of your daughter."

"That's…" Watson trailed off. "Lieutenant Haley, be quiet before I-"

"You were on Korhal," she whispered. "A commander. Assigned to the battlecruiser Azan. You were assigned to hold position at Augustgrad during the zerg assault against Dominion forces led by Edmund Duke. You wanted to go. To help."

"Enough…" Watson whispered.

"The rest of your family had been killed during the UED assault, but your daughter…she was on the Norad Three. Wanted to be like you."

"I said enough!"

"They never found her body in the wreckage. But you remember her. And when Lambert joined this ship…you thought you'd found the closest thing you'd ever have to Charlotte Watson again."

"Shut up before I-"

"I knew River was dead," Haley whispered, glancing at Henderson before closing her eyes. "Because Lambert's been on Captain Watson's mind the entire time. And she died together with River…sucked out into space…he saw it happen and-"

"Shut up!"

Time seemed to slow as Watson lunged forward. Lambert…Lambert was dead. Murdered right before his eyes as he'd failed to save her. Just like he'd failed to save Charlotte. Just as he'd failed to save Dean and René. He had no idea how Haley knew this. But right now, as he lunged toward her, as his mind raged and his heart pounded, all he wanted to do was make sure this knowledge was taken with her to her grave.

_Dead. All dead._

He never got the chance as Henderson swung his fists at him, breaking free of Woods's grasp. Both fists hit Watson's nose – blood spurted out of it as he fell to the ground.

"Take them!" he yelled, wiping the blood away as he did so.

The marines rushed forward. Woods tried to restrain Watson. Haley…Haley held up a hand and after that…Watson blinked as the datapads flew through the air and hit the resocs. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to distract them.

_The hell? Is she a-?_

_Teek? _he heard a voice in his head. _Teep? I'm both. A psychic._

It was Haley's voice. And time seemed to slow even further.

_And I'm no longer afraid._

Watson stared at her.

_But I read Turner's mind…and you should be afraid of him. He's not what he seems. Or who he seems. He-_

And then Turner himself tackled Haley to the ground. For a moment, Watson wondered where he'd been. Why he'd been so quiet after Henderson made that outrageous accusation. And he wondered why he was focussing on Haley so much when Henderson was the one giving Woods and the marines so much trouble.

"Commander!" Watson yelled.

Turner ignored him. He kept trying to hit her. And getting a punch on her forehead, sending the medic's head crashing into the ground, trying became succeeding.

"Commander!"

"Get out of my head!" Turner yelled. "Get out of my head!"

Watson blinked, even as blood ran down his chin from his nose – if Haley was a psychic, why wasn't she in the Ghost Program? Had she been contacting Turner? And if that was the case, why?

"Get off her you bastard!"

He stopped wondering as he saw Henderson grab the syringe off the bench. As he somehow broke free from the marines. As while he held the syringe with both hands, sent its needle into the back of Turner's neck.

"Gah!"

Turner screamed as he clawed for the needle. It was enough to allow Haley to scamper away, her eyes wide and breathing heavy.

"Lomax!" Watson yelled. He glared at Henderson, now back in the custody of the marines. "What have you done?!"

Henderson remained silent, even as Turner writhed on the floor.

"I said, what have you done?!" Watson demanded, getting to his feet and bringing his gaze to meet the medic's. "Answer me!"

"My job," Henderson whispered. "Or rather, _your _job."

"What?!"

"I revealed your traitor," he said, nodding his head towards the commander. "Take a look for yourself."

Hearing Turner's screams, Watson did so. And then fought the urge to scream himself.

Because as Lomax Turner's skin began to peel off his face, as blades began to extend from his shoulders, as his eyes turned a sickly amber…Lomax Turner was looking like anyone _but _Lomax Turner.

Or, as Watson reflected as he stared in horror, any_thing_…

* * *

"So, how long till we're out of here?"

"Till the warp drive's spun up."

"And how long will that take?"

"As long as it takes Norfolk's warp rats to acclimatize themselves."

"And how long will that take?"

"I'm a pilot not a techie. How should I know?"

"Fine, whatever."

Mercer let Cawthorne and Bobenthal bicker like a married couple as they traded barbs, and a stress ball that they were tossing back and forth between their pilot seats. Maybe they _were _a married couple he thought. Maybe there was some kind of vow pilots had to take when they operated a ship together. If there was, he'd never known, as he'd only ever piloted a gunship before being given a navigation position on a destroyer, and after that keeping the same position on one ship after another, along with the same rank by virtue of his age of enlistment. So now, as still-lieutenant Karl Mercer of the Dominion Fleet, formerly of the Colonial Fleet, he leant over the starmap, watching the blip that was the _Athena _extend a line from its position in space to the Agria system. A by-product of the techs re-plotting the course rather than him ascertaining their position. But he was glad with the end result all the same.

_And yet why here? _the navigator wondered as he stared at the display, briefing sparing a glance at the viewscreen and the darkness of space beyond it. _If this is sabotage, why bring us out here?_

"Out here" translated to sub-sector A-168. An empty region of space out towards the galactic fringe. Practically bereft of stars and planets, unexplored because there was so little _to _explore, and where the only reason one might have wanted to pass through it was if they wanted to head to another galaxy. Within easy range of the Koprulu sector, but without any motive to be there. So since sabotage had been concluded as the reason for their presence here, and with Watson and Turner interrogating the suspects, Mercer had to ask himself, why here? To die? There was no reason for anyone to operate out here, not when the Koprulu sector itself already offered a range of hiding spots for rebel groups, and when said hiding spots were in range of supplies. Out here there was next to nothing bar stars and planets poor in heavy elements with no capacity to sort life. Like a purgatory.

_Well, we're leaving, _Mercer told himself as he turned away from the starmap, beginning to walk around the bridge. Relishing the feeling of movement, of having had purpose for the last day or so, even if he wasn't the ship's saviour. _May not be going to Heaven, but-_

"Um, Lieutenant?"

Mercer looked around. Lieutenant…yes, Puebla was referring to him. He was the only lieutenant on this bridge, and it dawned on him that with Watson and Turner absent, the highest ranking one as well. It was an odd feeling.

"Sir?"

And given the tone of Puebla's voice, apprehensive as well. Enough to make him hobble as he made his way over.

"Yes, officer?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Sir, I…" Puebla trailed off. "Well, it…well, see for yourself."

_I'm the navigator, not the tactical officer, _Mercer thought. But he looked at the display on Puebla's terminal anyway. It was zoomed out, showing a 3D representation of the _Athena _and surrounding space. A space in which Mercer saw what he was referring to.

"A warp rupture."

Several of the bridge crew looked around. Mercer looked at the viewscreen. "Puebla, use our port camera. Superimpose image."

Puebla obliged. Another section of space greeted them.

"Magnify. Close in on the rupture."

Mercer tried to compose himself as Puebla followed his orders, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. _Is it warm in here? _he wondered.

"There," Puebla said, presenting the zoomed-in image. "Our star show."

"Star show" was something of a misnomer, Mercer thought.. It was something that obscured the stars, a flicker of light and radiation. Similar to the visual effect of a terran vessel exiting warp space. Only when terran vessels did it the effect only lasted a few seconds, and gave those in real-space only a few seconds warning.

"So…a warp rupture then?" Cawthorne asked, handing the stress ball to Bobenthal and walking over. "Stellar phenomenon?"

Mercer remained silent. Warp space itself was reasonably understood – enough for terran starships to actually use it at least. But there was limited data on how warp space interacted with the material universe, and while there was evidence that warp/real-space interactions could happen naturally, data was limited.

"You might want to record this," he said to Puebla. "Shrinks might want a look once we're back in Dominion space."

"I am recording it," the tactical officer answered. "But…sir, it's getting bigger."

"Bigger? What do you mean bigger?"

"I mean bigger!" Puebla snapped. "I mean it's generating more energy. I mean it's…it's…"

Puebla trailed off. Cawthorne's mouth dropped. Bobenthal dropped the ball. And following their gaze, Mercer couldn't blame any of them.

The warp rupture had gone.

A wormhole had taken its place.

* * *

_I was right._

It was cold comfort right now, as Henderson watched Turner writhe on the ground. Not that he felt any pity for the man, but when he'd prepared the serum, he'd hoped to administer it under better circumstances than the ones he found himself in right now. Ideally where Watson didn't have any preconceptions of his supposed false allegiance. Where Amanda hadn't revealed her psionic powers, an act that he dreaded to think what would mean for her when this was all over. And ideally where Turner would be in a position where he couldn't do any damage.

But dammit, he was right. And watching Turner turn from terran into…something else, he fought back the urge to just high tail it out of the room. Because while Watson's nose was still bleeding, chances were there would be a lot more blood spilt if something wasn't done soon.

"Woods, help me!" Watson yelled, trying to keep Turner from convulsing, even as his transformation continued. "For God's sake hold him down!"

Henderson saw Woods hesitate a moment before rushing to her captain's size. He gazed at the marines, both of them still restraining him, both of them staring at Turner with a blank gaze. He saw Amanda edge her way towards them – resocs they might have been, but they were still the ones with the fekking guns.

_I'm sorry about River, _he heard Amanda say within his mind. _I'm sorry about everything. I just wanted to wait until…a better time._

Henderson kept his gaze on Turner, still convulsing, still writhing as his hands became claws, as his skin became mottled, as he looked exactly like what Henderson had come to suspect him to be. Maybe Haley could have read his mind. But, as he thought, that wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe River would have still been alive, but…

Henderson closed his eyes. River. Until Watson had mentioned her, he'd forgotten all about his fellow medic. And now…

"Henderson, what is this!?" Watson yelled, still keeping Turner pinned down. "What did you do to him?!"

"Like I said, your job," Henderson murmured, breaking loose of the marines' grasp and walking forward over to the commander. "I've revealed Turner to be a mutate."

"A what?!"

"Mutate," Henderson said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. "Infested terran with mental faculties retained courtesy of nanites. Most ended up in the service of the Alliance." He spat at Turner. "That's what you are, isn't it?!"

Turner screeched at him and tried to lunge upwards. His mouth was still humanoid in shape. But the sound was anything but.

"Commander, it's fine!" Watson yelled, still trying to keep Turner restrained, even as the commander's uniform burst open to reveal his brown-skinned, insect-like chest. "It's fine. It'll all be fine. We-"

"Captain, it's not fine!" Henderson yelled. He glanced at the marines. "Restrain him."

"Belay that!"

"Sir, with respect-" Woods began.

"I said belay that! We'll help you Turner! We'll help you get better and-"

Turner yelled again. He sprung upwards, knocking both the captain and marine lieutenant to either side. He flexed his claws, and Henderson realized that the nanites hadn't just been keeping his appearance in check. They'd been keeping his physique restrained as well.

"Oh, fekk."

Turner's chest opened up. A spike came out of it, similar to a hydralisk's needle spine. And it would have hit Henderson if Amanda hadn't dived into him, knocking him both order.

"Shit!"

Henderson had no idea who exclaimed that. It was lost in the sound of the gunfire.

Woods was firing her pistol. One of the marines had got his assault rifle out and was adding to it. Dashing to the side, Turner evaded the gunfire and jumped at the resoc, slashing his gun arm with his claws. The marine grunted in pain, and was then sent flying against the far wall.

_Not good, not good!_

The other marine swung his rifle, hitting Turner in the right cheek. It did nothing. In turn, the marine fell to the ground with a spike lodged in his chest. Blood began spreading out.

"Zuber!" Amanda cried, rushing over to the resoc. Apparently she'd teeped him to know his name. Apparently him being a resoc didn't matter as her medical instincts took over. Enough to not see Turner as he swung a claw and-

"Amanda!"

-and missed as a bullet hit his shoulder. Henderson glanced at Woods, now on her feet. Looking like a warrior woman of Old Earth myth. A warrior woman with a smoking gun that was fired again. And again. And again.

Turner roared as the bullets hit him, each sending him staggering backwards. Henderson crawled under her line of fire, getting to Amanda. He was a medic and the marine was losing blood, but right now, she…

_River's dead._

River's face filled Henderson's mind for an moment. Her laughter, her snark, her impulsiveness, her…everything. Only for a moment. But as he looked at Amanda, as she looked at him…

_I understand, _she said in his head.

And the moment passed. And Henderson saw one marine on his feet, one marine cursing as Amanda tore out the spike and put pressure on his chest, one dazed Captain Watson, and one pissed-as-hell Jean Woods, standing with an empty pistol. And above all, a former Commander Turner, slumped against the wall. Alive. For now.

"What is this?" Henderson heard Watson say, and he didn't know who he was addressing the question to. "What…the _fekk_…is this?"

"Ask Turner," Henderson whispered, turning his attentions to the marine. "He's your mole."

Henderson felt a hand on his shoulder. And he felt himself being yanked to his feet by the captain. And saw the captain's face meet his.

"Your nose stopped bleeding. That's good."

"A mutate," Watson said. "What the hell is a mutate?"

"Exactly what I said before," Henderson murmured. "Scuttlebutt I heard on Korhal after the Brood War." He glanced at Turner, watched as Woods picked up Zuber's assault rifle and pointed it at him. "But what he's doing here, I dunno." He looked back at the captain. "Maybe you should ask him yourself."

"Maybe you should have your psych teep him," Watson whispered. "And explain why she isn't a Ghost."

"And maybe you should get that stick out of your arse and face the fact you've got a fekking mutate on your ship!"

Watson glared at him. Henderson glared right back. It should have been Watson lying on the ground with a hole in his chest. Not Zuber. And he would have told the captain that himself if he didn't hear the sound of laughter. Of Commander Turner. Bleeding, but still alive.

"He's right you know…" the commander rasped. "You always did have a stick up your arse."

Watson walked past Henderson. The medic watched as the commander came to stand by Woods. Woods glanced at the captain, but otherwise kept the rifle trained on her foe.

"Why Turner?" Woods asked. "Why this?"

"Look at me you idiot…" Turner whispered. "That's your answer."

"No it isn't," Henderson said, joining them and looking down at the commander. "There's more to the story, isn't there?"

"You tell me," Turner rasped, lying against the wall and coughing. Blood fell on the floor. Coagulated looking, but still red. "You're the expert."

"Fine," Henderson murmured. "I'm guessing that you were infested at Char. I'm guessing that you were recovered by the Alliance and subjected to nanite treatment. What I can't understand is why this charade. Why send us out here."

Turner chuckled. It lasted a few seconds. It only ended when Watson kicked him in the stomach.

"Lomax, answer me," he said. "If there's a shred of decency in you at all, you'll tell me."

Turner said nothing.

"I said tell me!" he yelled, grabbing Turner's shoulders. "Tell me why we're out here! Tell me why Lambert died! Tell me why you betrayed the Dominion!"

"The Dominion!" Turner spat, blood flying out of his mouth and causing Watson to recoil. "The Dominion betrayed _me_, Howard! When Mengsk pulled back at Char Aleph and ignored the Sirumulai! When it left me to die on Char!"

"That's not betrayal, that's war," Watson said. And Henderson could tell by the tone of his voice that he believed it.

"Call it what you want, I died that day." Turner glanced at Woods. "You ever fought the zerg Lieutenant? Ever been to Char? Well, let me tell you it's not paradise. It's not even Hell. It's worse. It's much. Fekking. Worse." He laughed again. "But not so bad that I didn't discover a UED camp that was still intact. Enough for me to patch my wounds before the zerg got me." He sighed, as if remembering something…pleasant. "Waste of plastiscab there…"

"I've fought the zerg," Woods murmured. "What of it?"

"Then you know they can't be stopped."

"I know they can bleed," Woods snarled. "And die."

Turner chuckled. "The Alliance never got me," he whispered. "Their mutates think they can be terran, but they're not. And why would I want to be terran anyway? My kind betrayed me. The zerg…they don't betray. They don't backstab. They…they will reward me."

"The zerg…" Watson whispered. "You're working with the _zerg_?!"

"The queen came to me. At the base itself. Gave me the last of some UED nanite tech on the base, part of a program they'd initiated to create mutates of their own, and make them look a bit presentable as well. Gave me a ship to escape in. To rejoin the Dominion. To act when she needed me." Henderson watched as blood trickled out of Turner's mouth, joining the blood pouring out of his bullet wounds. Watched as he met Watson's gaze and laughed.

"You have any idea what it was like…Captain? To play the good commander and not kill you for two fekking years? I admit, I didn't always hide my contempt for the _Dominion_…but let's face it, I fooled you." He looked at Woods. "I fooled all of you." He looked at Henderson. "And that's why you're here. To die. Die quietly, so Mengsk can entertain the notion of the zerg being quiet a little longer. Die quietly and..." He sighed, and Henderson looked at the man's chest as it moved. Up and down. So slowly. He looked at Zuber. As Amanda slowly closed his eyes. As the other marine held his hand. "Well, that would be telling…"

_A resoc, _Henderson thought, looking back at Turner. _Even a resoc held onto more of their humanity than this bastard._

And yet, Henderson could understand. The zerg had changed Commander Turner. For all intents and purposes, Lomax Turner had died on Char. The man before him was just a twisted version of that man. He…

_No._

Commander Turner had been given the gift of choice from the moment nanites had been put in his system, Henderson reflected. He'd chosen to betray his race. He'd chosen to follow the queen's orders. He'd chosen and carried out all of his actions, and because of them, River Noble, Lambert Parker, and Private Zuber were dead. And as a chill rushed down his spine, Henderson reflected that potentially, the death count could extend to the entire ship.

"You're dead, Turner," Watson whispered. "You're fekking dead."

"Of course…I am…" Turner rasped, his breaths more shallow than ever. "But so…are you."

If fate existed, it had a sense of timing, Henderson thought. Because it was at that point that an alarm sounded. At that point that he heard the voice of Mercer over the intercom. As he heard words that made that chill down his spine become solid ice.

**Action stations, action stations, all hands report to action station. Zerg behemoth sighted off the port side, fifty-thousand klicks and closing. All hands report to action stations. I repeat, zerg behemoth sighted off the port side.**

Henderson looked at Amanda, her eyes wide. He looked at Woods, the marine clenching her rifle like it was a lifeline. He looked at Watson, the captain looking like the Grim Reaper was standing right in front of him. And finally, looking at the real Reaper in the room, he looked Turner. Taking his last breath, but grinning like the Devil.

"Like I said…" Turner whispered. "You're dead."

* * *

_A/N_

_This chapter was perhaps the hardest to write. Partly it's due to to what I call the "reveal chapter," the point in time in a story where the major plot point is revealed, and the author has to make sure that everything in the story correlates with said chapter. Off the top of my head, _Shadows of Hope _and _Denial _are other examples of this._

_But this was even harder, because I had to do a rewrite. The original draft involved Henderson serving tea/coffee/whatever, and slipping in the nanites into Turner's. I liked the idea in itself, but was left with the leap of faith that Henderson would be in a position to serve anything (that this occurred in the lounge is a holdover, one I decided to keep for various reasons). Hence, I chose the violence option, which led me to altering the story even further to have Woods shoot Turner. Partly because it seemed like a logical progression of events (as in, violence begetting violence), partly because of other reasons stemming from future events and changes in the story. The original draft had him turn but simply be taken into custody._


End file.
